


Shapeshifter

by WildwingSuz



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case of a shapeshifting entity in northern Michigan ends up being an unexpected catalyst in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This was a toughie and yet an absolute joy to write. The situation and characters of the Bryants, Lauren, and Janice are from my unpublished novel “A Beast in the Night” (look for it, I managed to sneak it in here) and it was sheer bliss to be able to revisit them twenty years later and imagine what ultimately happened to them since I finished the novel in 1987. Since it's an early novel it will probably never be published, but I was careful to stick to my original story ideas here which did make parts a bit rough. Still, this was one that I hated to see end.
> 
> Spoilers: A few months after X-Cops show has aired; shortly after “En Ami” and before “Chimera”.

Shapeshifter   
By Suzanne L. Feld  
Rated PG-13

I  
March 2000

Although I didn't want to let Mulder know in case he took it the wrong way, I was more than happy to be driving across Michigan's upper peninsula with him. Unlike my usual griping and complaining on a case like this that wasn't a clear-cut X-File, I sat relaxed and quiet against the rental car's seat, gazing out at the scenery. It was cold but clear out, the road flanked by snow-dusted pine trees with a bright blue sky overhead. I lifted one hand and pressed the back of it against the window, feeling the icy bitterness against my skin while the interior of the car was warm and comfortable. After the problems between us thanks to the Smoking Man and his manipulation of me I really needed to get away for a while, and you didn't get much farther away than where we were going and still be in the continental United States.

“You OK, Scully?”

I turned to glance over at Mulder, who was driving with his white shirt rolled to the elbows, tie askew, first two buttons undone. His suit jacket was tossed over the back of the front seat between us, but I wore my blazer plus an outer coat; the ride from the airport to the first witness' house wasn't that far. The puddle-jumper that had brought us up here from Detroit had been blasting hot air and he'd complained about being too warm, but this was too far the other way. “Fine, why?”

“You're awfully quiet. You read my initial report and have nothing to say?”

I shrugged. “What is there to say? There's someone dressing up like a bear or Bigfoot running around up here scaring people and eating the occasional cow or goat and we get to stop them. It's pretty country, isn't it?” 

He glanced over at me. “If you like snow, I guess. I get enough of that at home. What makes you think it's someone instead of something? There've been three different types of teeth marks that all match the same pattern.”

“There's got to be a mistake there, Mulder. I'm going to look over the records for myself. There's no way that bite marks from both a bear and wolf, never mind something that appears to be a gorilla, can have the same tooth pattern.”

“Bigfoot, Scully, not gorilla. The hair they recovered from the cow was not simian—it wasn't any mammal on record that anyone can find although it was fairly close to human. There was some speculation that it might be from a Cro-Magnon or even a Neanderthal, but the sightings don't match.”

“Another Jersey Devil?” I repressed a sigh. “At any rate, there's no way it can match. There's got to be a mistake somewhere.”

“I'm thinking shapeshifter of some kind. Someone who can turn themselves into any type of animal, and is trying to throw off discovery while they hunt by being several different ones. And remember, this has happened before. There was a rash of unexplained animal attacks in 1985 that were very similar.”

I looked over at him. “But whoever it is isn't killing every time, Mulder,” I pointed out. “The reports vary from people catching a glimpse of it-slash-them running away to finding it peeking in the window at them to seeing it take down a full-sized cow. I'll put my money on bored teenagers—there isn't much out here to do, and it does sound like the kind of thing kids would do for kicks.”

“How close are we?” he changed the subject with his usual lightening rapidity. This man needs to beep when he changes direction like that. “There's what looks like some kind of town coming up.”

I glanced down at the map, then at the series of handwritten directions paper-clipped to it by the helpful Avis clerk. “That should be Brimley if I'm not mistaken, and we go through town and make a left at the blinking red light.”

We didn't talk other than directions until we arrived at the Kneese farm, which reminded me a lot of the Peacocks' farm in Pennsylvania; I could only hope this wouldn't turn out to be anything like that. It was large, rambling, and appeared rather unkempt, although it did have electricity and the house seemed to be in halfway decent repair. As Mulder got out of the car and shrugged into his jacket and then coat I turned to the back seat and dug out the pair of rubber boots I'd bought the minute I'd found out we were going somewhere rural. The last pair of good Elle pumps I'd ruined in the mud would be the last, I vowed.

Now a good 6” shorter than Mulder but with warm dry feet, I trudged beside him up the gravel walkway to the house. We had barely made it to the bottom of the steps when Farmer John stepped out, a big burly man in overalls, a plaid shirt, brown Carrhart jacket, and almost the exact same brown rubber boots I was wearing; I think that endeared him to me because he was far nicer to me than to Mulder. But that could also have been because I wasn't the one trying to convince him that a Bigfoot had killed his cows.

Mr. Kneese had actually seen the whatever-it-was take down and rip the throat out of one of his prized cows in the back pasture, although he'd been over five hundred yards away at the time. He seemed fairly well positive that it was a bear, although he did admit that he thought he'd seen... hands.

As we drove back towards Sault Ste. Marie, Mulder was shaking his head. “That wasn't done by any kid in a costume, Scully,” he said with finality. “If it's not a shapeshifter of some kind or a Bigfoot, then maybe it is a gorilla because I don't know what else could do that.”

I was inclined to agree but didn't want to say so; it was never a good thing to agree with him too early into the case. My skepticism keeps him sharp and focused even if not always on what I'd like him to focus on, namely proof rather than guesses. “The carcass was pretty ripe, Mulder, and with that much decomposition it's hard to tell what killed it,” I said. “I honestly thought it would be better preserved up here than that, but we didn't count on an early thaw.”

“Yeah, that reeked,” he agreed. “I think he was as relieved to be able to get rid of it at last as we were to get away from it.”

“Ready to grab a bite to eat?” I asked, seeing a diner coming up on the right.

“Yeah, and then let's go check in to the hotel,” he said, stopping the car in a snowy dirt lot on the right of the diner. The lot was dotted with four-wheel-drive vehicles from new Subarus to battered old pickups to expensive SUVs. “Mina told me it's right on the Soo Locks, so it ought to have a decent view.”

I shrugged as we walked inside, and no matter what the food ended up being like it sure smelled good. I've learned in all our travels not to guess a book by its cover, or a diner by its appearance. Some of the rattiest-looking places we've eaten have turned out to be the best, especially in rural areas like this.

In this case I was wrong. Mulder ordered something called a “pasty”, which was apparently a local delicacy and came highly recommended from the waitress. To me it looked like nothing more than a hamburger meat pie smothered in gravy, but he raved over it. I didn't like the sound of the name and instead got a chef salad and bowl of soup, but in both cases it was a bad choice—the chicken noodle was greasy with no visible real chicken and mushy noodles. The salad was wilted and I didn't eat more than a bite or two of the ham or turkey strips because they tasted a bit off—not bad, just not right. 

My stomach was uneasy by the time we found the Soo View Motel which did, indeed, boast a view of the famous Soo Locks, which were a series of interlocking channels which were raised and lowered to allow ships to pass back and forth from the higher Lake Superior to the lower Lake Huron. They were, however, closed for the winter so our rooms had a less-than-stunning view of the iced-over lake with a couple of drab administration buildings and a few concrete walls that were the actual locks. The hotel was not a hotel but a motel, the kind that I remembered staying in as a child when we traipsed back and forth across the country following Ahab to his duty stations. It was the kind with cheap plywood panelling, orange and/or brown carpet, and garish bedspreads with desperately matching curtains. If it cost more than twenty bucks a night I'd eat one of my undamaged shoes—the FBI number-crunchers were going to love this one. So much for my hopes of a nice B&B or, at the very least, a Holiday Inn. Suddenly I wasn't quite so happy to be off on another wild goose chase with my now-annoying partner.

As we got our suitcases out of the trunk after he'd checked us in I glanced over at Mulder, who was studiously looking away from me, and remarked, “So you had your pal Mina book this for us, eh?”

“I did,” he admitted, still not looking my way. “She did a great job on my Memphis vacation a few years back. I'm rather surprised at this.”

Mina Kennedy was a well-meaning older agent with the world's biggest crush on Mulder, which of course he was oblivious to. I wondered what he'd done this time to piss her off to get us these digs, but didn't say so—my stomach was roiling and I suddenly dropped my suitcase, turned and ran for my room. Luckily I had my key in my hand and made it inside and to the bathroom before the contents of my dinner came back up.

When I finished vomiting, flushed the toilet and started to get up, I felt warm, soothing hands on my shoulders holding me in place. “Mulder, get out of here,” I choked out, embarrassed that he'd seen me like this. “I'm all right, just let me be.”

One hand disappeared and then reappeared holding a wet but not dripping washcloth, which he pressed to my forehead. It was cool, not cold, and felt like heaven. “Doctor Scully, I'll no more leave you alone than you would me if it was me worshiping the porcelain god after a bad meal,” he said in a soft voice close to my ear. “I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure you're all right.”

“It was that damn salad,” I said, sitting up and wiping my mouth on a piece of toilet paper. “I thought it tasted a little off, and I shouldn't have eaten as much as I did.” He moved the cool washcloth from my forehead to the back of my neck, his other hand holding my hair out of the way. That felt even better and I had no plans on moving, even if I felt like an idiot sitting on the bathroom floor of a cheap motel. “Thanks, that feels good.”

He rubbed the washcloth lightly over my neck. “It's what my mom used to do for me when I ate too much Halloween candy after trick or treating—usually all of mine and most of Samantha's—and was sick all night.”

I chuckled weakly. “I think the last time I threw up was after my medical school graduation party. Bill insisted on it because both he and Ahab were home on leave, and I decided to throw caution to the winds and get plastered. Too bad this isn't from partying, I'd feel better about it.”

He chuckled lightly, understandingly. The washcloth was removed and my hair fell back, then I felt his hand gently stroking over it, fingers running through the strands in an almost sensual manner. I wanted to look up at him but couldn't, still feeling a little embarrassed. “How're you feeling now?” he asked, getting up from where he was kneeling next to where I was sitting cross-legged. Thank goodness I'd decided on a pantsuit this morning instead of a skirt. 

“Better,” I said, and it was the truth. “Still shaky, but I think now that it's out of me I'll be all right, and probably be hungry as a bear in a bit.”

He helped me up, then put an arm around my shoulders and led me over to the bed. His body heat arrowed right through my coat, jacket, and shirt and warmed me better than an electric blanket could. “I'm not taking any chances,” he said as he gently pushed me down to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of me. “Lay down and relax for a while, make sure there's nothing else coming up. I'll bring in the suitcases.” He took off my shoes, setting them neatly to the side, then kneaded my feet, ankles, and calves gently through my wool slacks before standing up and pushing gently on my left shoulder. “Lay down already,” he admonished.

I did as he urged even though I was still wearing my good Burberry and didn't want it wrinkled. It did feel better to be horizontal, and I curled on my side and watched as he brought in my suitcase, briefcase, and laptop bag. The cold air that blew through the open door felt good and had a refreshing, snowy smell. Although I was very comfortable where I was, I finally sat up when he hauled the last bag in and said, as I took off and hung up my coat and blazer, “I'm fine now, Mulder, I can--”

“No, you're not,” he argued, popping open my suitcase which he'd placed on top of the low dresser. I was so surprised that I didn't react right away. “You need to take it easy until at least tomorrow morning. Time for bed, Dr. Scully. Is this your pajamas?” with both hands he held up a thin spaghetti-strap camisole, black with lace around the top of the bodice.

I flew over there and grabbed the lingerie out of his hands, stuffing it back down among my other clothes. “You never mind what that is! I'll get my jammies on and lay down if you want, just stay out of my suitcase!”

He had a big shit-eating grin on his face and I wish I hadn't risen to the bait, but it was too late. He knew me far too well but I was just too beat and sore to resent being manipulated. I found my new cotton pajamas and marched into the bathroom with them, slamming the door behind me. I heard his chuckle from outside; his concern was touching, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

The washcloth he'd used on me was in the sink and I rinsed it out and washed my face with it, then changed into the pajamas and, folding my underclothes inside the slacks and shell top I'd taken off, carried them back into the main room. Mulder was gone and after I put them away I perched on the end of the bed and considered picking up the remote. I really did feel a lot better, but my midsection and throat were sore from the vomiting and I still felt tired. I wished I'd gotten myself something to drink before changing, and was just reaching for my cell phone to call him when the door opened and Mulder came in, accompanied by a cold breeze. “The temperature is really falling fast out there,” he said. “The wind coming off the lake is freezing. I think the thaw is over.”

He turned and I saw that he had two bottles of Evian and two cans of diet soda held against his midsection with one arm, the ice bucket in his other hand. Before I could say anything, his eyebrows went up and he remarked, “Did you borrow your brother's pajamas, Scully? Those aren't exactly your size.”

“Oh, shut up, Mulder, these were the only warm ones I could find,” I snapped, scooting back onto the bed. “I rushed to buy them before we left and got the wrong size. I knew it'd be cold up here and wanted something warm to sleep in.” They were large enough that I had to roll up the sleeves and legs at least twice, but they were warm and comfortable nonetheless. As for being either of my brother's, they were pale green with yellow flowers on them—I don't think so.

He set the bottles, cans, and ice bucket down on the end of dresser beside the door, then without hesitation came over to the bed, leaned over and kissed the tip of my nose. I was so surprised that I didn't do anything but stare at him dumbfounded. “You look adorable,” he said, then pointed to the green bottles of water. “Now drink those, get some rest, and I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on you.”

“Where in the hell are you going, Mulder?” I yelled after him as the door closed, but got no answer. 

Adorable?!


	2. The Usual Suspects

II

I didn't see him again until the next morning, although after I got up I vaguely remembered him coming in and checking on me during the night, standing over the bed watching me until I'd turned to look up at him. I'd fallen asleep less than an hour after he'd left and woke up without an alarm at six a.m., starved but feeling a hundred percent better. The cold water and ice had done wonders for my throat, and now if I could just find some food the world would be my oyster.

It wasn't long before I realized that I didn't have the car keys in my room, and I didn't recall seeing a restaurant or 7-Eleven close enough to walk to when we drove to the motel--though by that time I'd been in no condition to notice a UFO landing in the street. I had no clue what time Mulder had gone to bed and I hated to wake him up, but I had to eat and eat soon. 

I dressed in jeans, a heavy dark green sweater and ankle boots, found my room key on the bedside table next to the unset alarm, then threw my Burberry around my shoulders and left the room. It was bitterly cold but windless, the sun barely above the horizon and not a creature stirring, not even a mouse. I did walk to the end of the L-shaped motel and look up and down the street—lots of businesses, not a single light in any of them, and no vending machines around the hotel. If this town didn't have a Starbucks, it at least had to have a 7-Eleven, right? Right?

Walking back to our rooms, I dialed Mulder on my cell but his was turned off. That left me no choice but to wake him up although I felt bad about doing it when he'd been so considerate of me the day before. But as I reached our rooms, my door swung open and a tall figure in jeans and a familiar worn black leather jacket stormed out, nearly bowling me over. “Mulder!”

“Scully, where have you been? I came by to see if you wanted to go get some breakfast and you weren't in your room.” He grabbed me by the shoulders so I wouldn't stumble into the front grill of our rental car as I tried to avoid running into him.

“How'd you get in my room?” I shrugged off his hands and pushed past him to get out of the cold and back into the aforementioned room.

“I requested a connecting door,” he followed me in and pointed to a door I hadn't even noticed on the wall between the bathroom and bed. “I left it unlocked in case you needed anything during the night.”

“So that's how you got in to check on me last night,” I said, relieved. “I thought you'd taken my room key and left it in here afterward.”

“I didn't mean to wake you, but I was worried. You looked bad yesterday.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the dresser where he'd set the Evian bottles last night, looking like nothing more than a hip hood from a James Dean movie in his leather jacket and jeans and black boots with a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. I noted that the two Diet Cokes I hadn't drunk were gone, presumably down his throat.

“I really am fine now, but if I don't eat soon I am going to start chewing on my shoes,” I told him, putting my hand on the doorknob. “Feed me, Seymour.”

His clear hazel eyes lit up and that grin would rival the sun when it made its appearance over the eastern horizon. “'Little Shop of Horrors'? Scully, you never fail to amaze me—and keep me guessing.”

“That's my job,” I grinned up at him as I opened the door and we left the room, walking the few steps to the car. “Wouldn't your life be boring if I'd decided that I didn't like that basement office with the pencils in the ceiling seven years ago?”

He paused and looked at me over the top of the car, both grin and humor gone from his face. He was as deadly serious as I'd ever seen him. “It'd be unbearable, Scully,” he said seriously, holding my eyes with his inscrutable dark ones. “I meant everything I said in the hallway that night you threatened to leave, you know. I still do.”

The look in his eyes caused a deep jolt in the pit of my belly. This was not the time or place for this conversation, and though I wanted it to continue we had to be in a warmer place after I was fed. “Mulder...”

Just then my stomach growled rather noticeably and he grinned, ducking into the car. “Okay, we can talk later. Come on, Scully, let's go find you some breakfast.”

 

All during breakfast at a 24-hour Denny's I tried to think of how to get the conversation back around to that night in the hallway when the worst-timed bee sting in history had interrupted our first real kiss, but never did find the opening. Instead we discussed the case even though we'd left the paperwork back in the room, and as we left the restaurant I said, “It's still pretty early and I'm not sure that the veterinary clinic will be open yet. There's only two left to interview, right?”

“Right, Dr. Julian Bryant, DVM and a Miss Janice Coppolia, both witnesses. I talked to the others yesterday while you were sleeping and you can read my report while I shower and change,” he said as we drove back to the motel. “I did tell them that we might be back in case you see something I missed, or just want to talk to them yourself.”

I was so warm and stuffed full of waffles and coffee and orange juice that I'd rather have gone back to bed, but I just agreed and that's exactly what I did. Then he had to wait while I showered and blow-dried my hair and changed, but by that time it was after nine and a more reasonable hour to be knocking on people's doors.

 

We arrived at the Soo Veterinary Clinic at nine-fifteen and there were only three cars in the lot, two at the far end and one near the door. When we walked into the clinic I saw that there was a single woman with a small fuzzy white dog on her lap in the waiting room, then Mulder was striding up to the receptionist's desk behind a low half-wall and introducing us. Before I even got my badge out, a stocky blonde man came through a doorway behind the receptionist's desk and said rather brusquely, “I'm Dr. Bryant, I've been expecting you. Please, come back to my office.”

Mulder and I exchanged a glance, then followed him down a long narrow hallway to a room near the back, passing a half-dozen doors along the way. Most were closed, but the open ones appeared to be a kennel area and lab. The clinic was spotlessly clean and clearly well-maintained though the building appeared to be from the 1950s. 

Dr. Bryant stood back and ushered us into his office, and the first thing I noticed was a wall painted bright orange to the left of the door. On this unusually-colored wall were photos of animals, their patients I assumed, ranging from framed professional shots of show dogs, horses, and cows to a taped-up blurry Polaroid of a turtle in a box and everything conceivable between. The pictures were pretty well spread out, filling maybe a third of the available space.

“Hey, Scully, check this out,” Mulder said from behind me, and I turned to see what he was looking at. On the other side of the doorway were two large framed photographs, both showing an orange wall covered in photographs—obviously the same wall that was now on my right but in different eras. The first one was a bit faded but looked to be in the 1950s or '60s, the second in the 1980s or early '90s by my guess. The latter one featured quite a few framed photos of show dogs and I glanced over at the real wall to verify my guess: yes, they were almost all black German Shepherds. “This is unusual, Dr. Bryant,” he said, smiling over at the vet who was now behind his desk. “I've never seen anything quite like it.”

Bryant grinned back, lighting up his face and green eyes. I noted his sudden change of attitude and filed it away for later consideration. “My grandfather founded this clinic, and I found the first photo in my grandmother's belongings when she passed in 1980. My father retired in 1995 and when I took over, I photographed the wall before I took his photos down,” he said, gesturing at the real photo wall. “My kids are only five and eight, but I have hopes for a fourth generation orange picture wall.”

“Why orange?” Mulder asked.

“Burnt orange was an 'in' color when this building was built,” he explained. “You'll note that the color in the first photo is a bit darker and on the other walls that you can see as well. My father painted over the others but left this one alone, and eventually brightened the color just because he thought it was funny. Trust me, if you meet him you'll know what I mean.”

I walked back over to the real wall and studied one of the large, framed dog-show photos that caught my eye. It showed an attractive but somber-faced woman with hair almost the same color as mine, only much shorter, kneeling next to a large black-and-tan German Shepherd, a huge golden trophy on her other side and three beaming men—judges, I guessed—standing behind them. The small black sign by her feet read: Best in Show, North American National All-Breed Dog Show, 1987.

“That's my stepmother, Lauren MacLaine-Bryant,” Dr. Bryant said, coming over to stand beside me. I caught a rather flat tone to his voice and wondered about it. “That's how she and my dad met, she was—well, is—one of our clients.”

“She looks really familiar,” Mulder said from close behind me. “Where do I know her from?”

“She did a series of Dog Chow commercials in the late eighties,” he said, again in that flat voice. “And wrote some books on dog training and breeding that are pretty well known to dog people. She's our local celebrity.” Again that odd tone, but not as if he disliked her... I just couldn't put my finger on it.

I turned to find Mulder standing right behind me although there was plenty of room in the vet's office, distracting me from my thoughts. I glared up at him and he grinned down at me as he moved away saying, “So, Dr. Bryant, why don't we go over the statement you gave the police...”

The interview went about as usual with a willing participant, Dr. Bryant sticking to his story with almost military precision even when we cross-examined him. There was something just the slightest bit strange about the way he talked although I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't a problem with his story, which seemed pretty straightforward, but more in the way he told it.

As we walked to the car I said, “Mulder, is it just me, or is there something odd about Dr. Bryant? Something he's hiding, maybe?”

“I don't know,” he said, opening the door and sliding in as I waited for him to pop the lock on my side. It was still windless and very cold out, and I was glad to get in the car even if it wasn't warm inside anymore. “I don't think he's really hiding anything but yeah, I did pick up on something odd. He was very open and willing and even friendly, but... abrupt, I think is the best way to describe it.”

I nodded as he started the car. “Let's do a follow-up interview, maybe at his home?” I suggested. “We should go take a look at where he saw it, anyway.”

“Good idea, Scully. Where to, next?”

I opened the file that I'd carried in and out of the clinic. “The home of Janice Coppolia, who's had several sightings in the last few weeks,” I said. “Deputy Grant gave directions, so turn right out of here and then go south on I-75, the entrance ramp should be just a couple of miles down.” While I was sleeping yesterday Mulder had also checked in with the local police and talked to the detective in charge of the case.

We didn't talk much on the drive out and it was nearly as far as we'd driven the day before to talk to the Kneeses but going east instead of west. When we got off the freeway we took a long, winding, tree-lined road for almost twenty minutes to her driveway, which was a rutted dirt track that wound up and down over a series of small, open hills that I didn't know existed in this state. I'd always thought that Michigan was as flat as Kansas or Nebraska, but it was a bit hilly out here. We didn't see a sign of civilization until finally the house came into sight, and Mulder and I exchanged a glance that needed no words. 

It was a low, long ramshackle ranch house surrounded by trees, bushes and extensive flowerbeds wreathed in patchy half-melted snow, smoke wafting from the chimney. There were several outbuildings and a falling-down barn around the house, with other partially-snow-covered lumps that I would guess were abandoned cars and the like. It had a sad, almost abandoned air about it despite the smoke.

Mulder pulled up in front of the attached double garage next to a battered brown car that was all but falling apart from rust. “Deputy Grant warned me that we should treat Ms. Coppolia carefully,” he said as he switched off the ignition and turned to me, draping one arm over the steering wheel and the other along the back of the seat between us, his hand a bare inch from my shoulder. “She's had some kind of trauma in her life and, to use his words, 'isn't quite all there anymore'. He said she's not dangerous, but lives in her own little world and can get upset if we say the wrong thing. He recommended we be very friendly and don't react to anything odd she may say.”

“She's mentally ill or unstable?” I said, turning to face him. “I didn't see that in the report.”

He nodded, turning to pull the keys from the ignition and reached for his door handle. “Apparently she's been like this for some time. Everyone around here is used to her and apparently don't think about it much. She pretty much stays out here on her property and only goes into town when she needs supplies.”

“How does she support herself?” I asked as we got out of the car. “Does she work?”

“No, all her bills are paid by a mysterious third party out of a trust fund,” Mulder wagged his eyebrows at me over the roof of the car. “I got the impression that no one seems concerned about it, either, which is odd in itself.”

“Hmph,” I said, feeling Mulder's warm hand at the small of my back even through my coat and blazer as we walked over to the front door, which was flush with the ground. As we got closer a dog began to bark and we glanced at each other, looking around, then I saw a curtain move and a pair of large ears in the ground-level window. “In there, Mulder,” I said, pointing. 

Just then the inner front door opened and we were confronted with a person who had to be Janice Coppolia through a glass storm door. The first thing I noticed was that there was a second large dog standing next to her—as with the first one it was a German Shepherd, looking remarkably like the ones in the photos at Dr. Bryant's office which were more black than the more common brown or gray. Then my attention turned to the woman, and I was glad that Mulder had warned me so I didn't react to her appearance.

I knew from the police report that she was in her early fifties, but it was difficult to tell through the tangled rats'-nest of graying black hair that surrounded and partially covered her face. It looked like she had not washed or combed her hair in years, and it was a thick matted blanket around her head. A few long strands hung loosely down her back to her waist, and I could only imagine how long it must be if it was combed out. She had a gaunt, too-thin look about her, although her face was naturally round and had a faint scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She wore a stained, moth-hole-spotted faded pink sweater and lime green summer-weight capri pants with a pair of what appeared to be brand-new tan leather moccasins on her feet. She looked like a faded Benetton ad after the apocalypse.

“Miss Coppolia? We're agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI. Deputy Bill Grant said he'd call and let you know we were coming to talk to you?” Mulder said as we slowly approached the door holding our badges out. The dogs had stopped barking but both watched us closely, one from the left window and one from in front of us. “May we come in?”

“Yeh, sure,” she said, turning away from the door and slapping her leg. “C'mon, Lard, leave 'em be. They're friends.”

We glanced at each other again and Mulder reached for the doorknob, both of us watching the dogs as I followed him in. They were beautiful animals, as well-groomed and fed as their owner was decrepit, but we'd had more than one run-in with dogs and weren't taking any chances—both of us had our coats pushed back for easy access to our guns if need be.

To my surprise the house was neat and clean, sparsely furnished with a kind of homey country charm. From inside the front door I saw three rooms, what appeared to be a den or family room to the right at the same level and the living room to the left down two deep steps, with what looked like a kitchen past that visible over a half-wall. I saw two other narrow, closed doors leading off the living room, which were probably the bathroom and/or closets. The furniture was golden wood and dark brown plaid, the floors clean if unpolished wood, the walls plain white plaster with wooden molding. The house smelled of fresh baking, some kind of fruit pie if I wasn't mistaken. I noticed Mulder sniffing too, and we exchanged a glance as he waved me in past him.

The dog she'd called Lard—what a lovely name, that--walked over to the couch and laid down in front of it, putting his head on his paws and watching us with ears up. The other one, which stood in a recliner in front of the window, whined softly as the woman went by. “It's okay, Lard, they're friends,” she repeated to the second one. “Be good boy, now, you hear?”

“Miss Coppolia, are both of your dogs named Lard?” I asked in a calm, quiet voice. Mulder shot me a warning look and I frowned briefly back at him. “They've got to be the most beautiful German Shepherds I've ever seen.”

“Yeh, that's Lard Six and that's Lard Seven,” she said, pointing at each of the dogs as she sat down on the couch near Seven. It appeared that he was the lighter-colored of the dogs, Six being almost solid black where Seven had tan legs and patches on his chest and face. They weren't the more common grizzled wolf-color or type with a black patch on the back that I was familiar with. “Their dad Lard Five died just a few years back, you shoulda seen him if you wanted to see a really gorgeous dog. Of course my first GSD, War Lard, was the best of the bunch—but he died a long long time ago. You shoulda seen how well he recovered after the werewolf attack, he was my best friend in the world for a long time.”

“Lord, Scully, she's saying the word 'lord' with a regional accent,” Mulder hissed in my ear as he helped me off with my coat. “War Lord.”

I got it. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Ms. Coppolia,” I said, smiling in a friendly manner over at her as I remembered Mulder's advice. He handed me my coat and I laid it across my lap as I sat down in a recliner across a wooden end table from the one that Six still sat in, watching us carefully but relaxed. Mulder remained standing as the only other seat was on the couch behind where Seven was lying on the floor, and I wouldn't have sat there either. 

“Well, yah, sure, gotta do my part to keep the world safe for democracy,” she shrugged, sitting back and crossing her arms. “Whatcha need to know?”

“If you could just tell us what you saw, like you did the deputy, that would be great,” Mulder said, also smiling as he leaned one shoulder against the doorway leading to the rec/family room. He gave the impression of being relaxed yet confident without looming or being threatening. 

“Oh, sure, the werewolf you mean,” she nodded easily, crossing one leg over the other at the knee. “Place is infested with them, you know, this whole area is. Would like it if not for that, but can't leave my friends. I owe them all so much, and then there's the garden and the flowers and the oil tanks, not to mention the earwigs in the corn. I can't leave all that just because of a few werewolves now can I?”

“It is beautiful up here,” I agreed when no one said anything after that. I swore she reminded me of Barnard Hughes at the end of “The Lost Boys”--the “all the damn vampires around here” line that I couldn't exactly remember. I'd have to tell Mulder about that later; if he liked my Seymour reference he'd probably gibber at my feet after that one. “So where was it exactly that you saw it?”

“Where haven't I seen it is more like it,” Janice cackled, shaking her head. Her thick mat of hair, other than those few loose strands in the back, barely moved at all. “Darn things're all over the place. There was one wandering around last night, but Lard knows her so he didn't bark at all. Wish she'd come in for coffee and cake, I wouldn't even mind if she smoked. I miss her. I've still got her cookie jar, too, I wonder if she'll ever take it back. It's Snoopy on his doghouse.”

I glanced over at Mulder but his face was impassive. As a psychologist I wondered what he made of her ramblings; as an MD, I wondered if she was on any illegal hallucinogenics. I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but he said smoothly, “So your dogs know the werewolves that come around?”

“Oh, that's right, Lard Six and Lard Seven, right?” Both dogs looked up at their names, Seven getting to his feet and standing in front of her with tail waving slightly. “You want a treat, dollface? Come on, biscuit time.”

At the word 'biscuit' both dogs leapt from their places and flew from the living room to disappear into the kitchen with a clatter of claws on wood. Janice heaved herself to her feet and with a big grin at me, said, “Be right back. Good dogs and werewolves deserve to be rewarded, don't you think?”

I mumbled something affirmative as Mulder sauntered over to take the chair that was across the end table from mine which Lard Six had vacated. Turning to him, I hissed, “This is a waste of our time, Mulder. She's living in 'The Lost Boys' universe, seeing werewolves everywhere and wanting to invite them in for tea.” 

“Scully, bear with me, there's a method to my madness,” he whispered back, then sat up straight as one of the dogs came trotting around the corner from the kitchen licking its chops. It went straight to Mulder and sat down in front of him between his open legs, looking up at him with its head cocked and large black ears up, brown eyes bright and curious. I couldn't remember which one it was, but Mulder sat back looking alarmed. The dog's head was only inches from his crotch, but I knew already that they would only be dangerous on their owner's command or if she was threatened. I'd had enough experience with dogs to recognize highly intelligent, well-trained animals.

“Lard, come here, c'mon over here, girl,” I cajoled, patting my knee, having already seen that this one was a female. The dog got up and trotted over, sitting down in front of me without being told and letting me pet her while she sniffed around my legs and knees. She really was a stunningly beautiful animal; while I've always preferred smaller dogs, I did admire the regal beauty of this one. I put a hand out and asked her to shake and sure enough, she gently placed one large tan paw in my hand. Her clear brown eyes were so expressive that I half-expected her to talk to me. It was then that I knew Janice Coppolia's mental illness must be getting to me and it was time to leave. 

The other Lard poked its head around the divider and barked, which caused the one I was petting to jerk around and then both of them disappeared around the half-wall, claws scrabbling on the clean wooden floors. Mulder and I exchanged only a brief glance before getting to our feet and following them. I felt a cold breeze as we rounded the wall and wasn't surprised to find the glass patio door standing wide open, neither Janice nor the dogs anywhere in sight though tracks in the patchy snow gave an idea of their whereabouts. Forgetting that I had left my coat in the chair, I tore out the door after them with Mulder hot on my heels.

The patio doors let out onto a wooden deck with a railing and three shallow steps, which led out into wide, snowy fields behind the house with outbuildings and unidentifiable snow-covered lumps scattered here and there. I had two seconds to curse the fact that I hadn't changed into the rubber boots before my Cole Haans sank into the half-inch or so of snow. There were dog and human prints everywhere so it was next to impossible to tell where they'd gone, but I thought I saw some that seemed to be on top of the others and followed them towards the back of the property.

We reached a small rise just past the barn when I spotted three dark spots in the snow some distance away. “This way, Mulder,” I called, waving my arm then wrapping both of them around myself. He'd veered off to the right a bit and now jogged towards me as I slowed to a walk the rest of the way to the three figures in the snow.

I walked up to find Janice on her knees in the snow, digging at it. No, I saw she was petting a set of prints, what looked like large dog tracks, which came from the far trees, stopped where she was, then went back. But what really got me was how the dogs were acting—Lard Six and Seven were trotting back and forth around the tracks, sniffing them with tails wagging. Whatever had made these tracks, the dogs knew and liked it. “See, I told you she still comes around, but she never comes any closer than this,” Janice said, smiling up at us and patting the tracks almost to oblivion. “We used to be such good friends... but them days is long gone.”

As all three of us began to trudge back to the house, I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself a little tighter—a medium-weight blazer and silk-blend blouse weren't adequate protection from a maybe twenty degree cold wind. I felt something warm drop around me and looked up to see Mulder now without his suit jacket, which he'd put around my shoulders, and his arm followed, pulling me against his firm body. I started to protest, then shut my mouth and enjoyed the contact, leaning into him to share my warmth. It wasn't often that I got to be this close to my partner--allowed myself to be this close to my partner—and I reveled in the feel of his hard, warm body against my side and his arm around my shoulders even as both of us shivered our way back to the house. I couldn't help but note how well I fit beneath his arm, then banished the thought with an effort.

Janice followed at a slower pace with the dogs, mumbling happily to herself. She had put on a thick black woolen shawl and shin-high heavy green gumboots before leaving the house; perhaps she wasn't as out of it as I'd first assumed.

 

“So you really think those were dog tracks, Scully?” Mulder asked as we drove back towards Sault Ste. Marie. “I know you saw how large they were.”

“Great Danes and mastiffs have bigger paws than that,” I said. “I've run across a few dog attacks in my time in the morgue.” It was warm and dry in the car, and this time I didn't put up my hand up to feel how cold the glass was. My brief time without a heavy coat, even under Mulder's arm, was good enough for me. Old rock'n'roll played low from the car's speakers, something with a familiar beat and stuttering in it, but I couldn't think of the song name or band. 

“It was our beast in the night,” Mulder said with his usual certainty before he knew what he was talking about. “And I'm getting an idea of who to talk to next.”

“That's it for the police reports, right?”

“Yes, unless you want to talk to anyone I saw while you were sleeping.”

“No, you covered it pretty good. Who else are you going to talk to?”

“First I want to do some checking, find out who's paying Janice Coppolia's bills.”

I recognized the next song, Takin Care of Business, although I didn't know who sang it. Missy had loved this song and played it over and over on the 8-track player she'd gotten for Christmas sometime in the late 1980s. I felt a pang at the thought of her, but then it was gone and I knew she wouldn't have minded that I was getting over her death more every year. “Why's that?”

“Because I'm suspecting that it's the one person we keep running across and who is the originator of all the black dogs in this town: Lauren MacLaine-Bryant, the local celebrity.”


	3. An American Werewolf in... America

III

Later that morning I was sitting barefoot and crosslegged on my motel room bed working on our field report on my laptop when the connecting door opened to a brief knock and Mulder walked in. Good thing I wasn't walking around in dishabille, but then I knew to lock any doors between us before doing so as he frequently didn't bother with knocking before wandering in. “I was right, Scully, MacLaine-Bryant is the one paying Coppolia's bills and she outright bought her that property in 1994. Janice used to work for her, too, for years—it was about seven years ago that she was first institutionalized, but MacLaine-Bryant got her released and put her up in that house. The interesting thing is that as far as I can tell, she never goes to visit Coppolia although some of the other townies do, including both Dr. Bryants, father and son, and there's a cleaning service who goes out there twice a week.”

“Odd,” I agreed, closing the lid of my laptop and giving him my full attention. “What did Coppolia do when she worked for her?”

“Secretary, assistant, that sort of thing,” Mulder said, still pacing around the room. “Our local vet, Dr. Bryant, used to help her show dogs when he was in high school, but MacLaine-Bryant hasn't actually shown her dogs in years—she just breeds and sells on a very limited basis now.”

“What, does she just have a show dog kennel? No other business?”

“That's what it looks like.”

“I don't know much about dog shows or breeding, but I always thought it was a backyard kind of thing, not a business.”

Mulder looked thoughtful. “Everyone I talked to about her made it sound like it's a big business type of thing. She's not only very famous, both she and her husband are very well-liked around here. Apparently they're quite the philanthropists and volunteer for just about everything that needs a warm body to help out—animal shelter, soup kitchen, grade school fundraisers, you name it.”

I took off my glasses, setting them over on the nightstand, and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “So when are we going to talk to them?”

He stopped and gave me that big Muldergrin across the room, the one that was like a newborn nova shining into my soul. “As soon as you've got some shoes on those little bitty feet of yours.”

One little bitty shoe hit the door, but by that time he'd ducked out. I'd get him, one of these days.

 

We pulled up in front of a large, rambling two-story farmhouse, which despite its equal distance away from civilization immediately appeared to be much more well-cared-for than both Kneese's and Coppolia's. There was a large gray-stone barn not far behind the house, although I didn't see any other outbuildings. The barn looked a little odd, almost shimmery on the outside, and as we walked to the front door I finally made out what it was: wire-fenced dog kennels spread out from both sides of the barn. There was also a large white-fenced field with a couple of horses in it, although I saw no other animals.

I switched my attention from the barn to the house as we climbed the wooden front steps, Mulder with his hand in the small of my back as usual. Despite its obvious age—my guess was from the turn of the century or even older—the house was in very good repair, appearing to have been recently painted without any sagging or creaking boards as we walked across the large wrap-around porch. As Mulder raised his hand to the doorbell the inside door swung open, and we found ourselves staring at another couple who were, in some way I couldn't quite describe, very similar to us.

They were at least twenty or more years older, I guessed in the few seconds we stood staring at each other though the beveled-glass storm door. The woman was taller than I but shorter than Mulder, perhaps five-six or -seven, slender with a medium build, probably in her early-to-mid-fifties. Her hair was nearly the same color as mine but wavy with streaks and rivers of gray shot through it, not as short as I'd seen it in the photo in Dr. Bryant's office but not quite as long as mine, either. She was wearing a pair of too-long stone-washed pegged jeans that wrinkled over the top of her tan moccasins—just like Janice Coppolia's, I noted--and a faded-almost-white but clean men's denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

The man standing partly behind her was probably a few years older, with a thick headful of silver hair and a shorter, stockier although not fat build, about the same height as she. Even at his age, which I estimated to be in his mid-to-late sixties, there was no sign of a paunch and they both seemed to be in good shape. His resemblance to the other Dr. Bryant was striking; I was sure that the younger man would look just like this in twenty years or so. Had I not already been told that this was his father, it was obvious they were closely related. He had the same clear, direct green eyes and although his hair was completely grey, it was just as thick as his son's and probably had once been just as blonde. He wore a red and black checked flannel shirt and jeans with what appeared to be thick-soled leather hiking boots peeking out from beneath the denim. Both of them were grinning widely at us through the glass storm door.

After a few moments I snapped out of my mild surprise and reached inside my coat for my badge. “We're--” I began, but was cut off when the woman unlatched and pushed the door open with a smile.

“We know who you are, you're Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully from the FBI,” she said, holding the door open as the older man stepped back to allow us in. “We've been waiting for you.”

Mulder made a slight gesture for me to go ahead of him, which I did. “I assume your son called you, Dr. Bryant?” he said to their backs as they preceded us into a large, dim, low-ceilinged living room. Quite a few open and closed doors led from it, as well as a wide, half-moon-shaped staircase that led to an upper hallway which could be seen through the open wooden-post railing.

“Oh, no, not to tell us you were coming,” the woman, Lauren MacLaine-Bryant, said as she turned to face us. It was then that I noticed that they were holding hands, her long slender fingers interlaced with his shorter, stockier ones. “We brought you here. We expected you yesterday when we heard you'd arrived in town, but today works just as well. We've kept the whole week free, in fact.”

“You... brought us here?” I repeated. “Are you saying you called the FBI and asked for agents to come and talk to you? We didn't receive any such request.”

She shook her head then exchanged a glance with her husband, and it was impossible to miss the deep connection between them. He stepped forward a bit, disengaging his hand from hers and yet, I noted, their upper arms still touched. “Why don't we start over?” he said in a gravelly, whiskey-and-cigarettes voice that I was immediately captivated by. Putting a hand out that Mulder and I each shook, he said, “I'm Frances Bryant, better known as Doc, and this is my wife Lauren.”

We all shook hands, standing by the doorway to the foyer in the large living room. There was a pause and in that second, a beam of sunlight broke free from the overcast and lit up the whole room from multiple windows, which until then had been rather gloomy. It was paneled in golden cedar with a low beamed ceiling, and now I saw that every available inch of wall space was taken up with framed photographs of the ubiquitous German Shepherd dogs, most at shows with MacLaine-Bryant in them though some were body and head shots. The focus of the room, however, was a large oil painting over the fireplace which featured a mostly-black dog standing on a rise with her house and barn in the background, the heads of four other similar dogs painted in each corner. Unusual and eye-catching.

“Please, come in, sit down; would you like something to drink?” Lauren said, gesturing to a long plaid couch in front of a bank of windows that looked out onto the long covered front porch. “We've got fresh-brewed iced tea, coffee, or Diet Coke.”

“Iced tea would be good,” Mulder said, heading for the couch. I murmured agreement as I followed, then stopped as Doc walked up to us.

“I don't know where our manners are, can I take your coats?”

Lauren stood next to him and squeezed his shoulder as he reached out to take our coats before we seated ourselves on the couch. “We're just excited, Doc. Not every day we get real FBI agents in our house.” As he'd recently begun doing Mulder sat far too close to me, but I couldn't move away without calling attention to ourselves so I just put up with his shoulder brushing mine.

Doc chuckled, going to hang our coats in a closet just to the left of the doorway we'd come in through. “I'll get the drinks,” he said, and walked back over to his wife to give her a one-armed hug and brief kiss on the forehead before disappearing though a doorway at the back of the room. She turned to look at him after he kissed her, and again I saw that wordless look of love pass between them. I'd known them less than five minutes and didn't think I'd ever seen such an openly affectionate couple in my life. I found myself wondering how long they'd been married; I'd known honeymooners who didn't touch each other as much as these two did.

Lauren seated herself in one of a pair of large wing-back chairs facing the couch across what looked to me like a turn-of-the-century antique coffee table, laying her arms along the armrests and crossing her legs at the knee—very clearly confident body language. “I'd like to wait until Doc gets back to talk, but I did want to mention how much I enjoyed your episode of 'Cops',” she said, smiling at both of us. “I knew the minute I saw you two arguing by the ambulance that you were just the people to help me.”

“You saw that,” I said flatly, turning to glare briefly at Mulder. He totally ignored me, grinning happily as he always did when someone recognized him from that stupid show. 

“Of course! That's what made me start thinking about having you two come up here and help me figure out. . . well, I don't want to say too much now, just suffice to say that you two are uniquely suited to helping me,” she said, still looking directly back and forth between us. Whatever in the hell she was talking about, I could tell that she wasn't hiding anything from us—yet, at least—and clearly believed whatever it was. 

Mulder leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Mrs. MacLaine-Bryant--”

“Oh, just call me Lauren, and Doc'll have a fit if you call him anything else,” she interrupted, turning to glance briefly back where he'd disappeared. “What'n the hell is taking him so long?”

He'd been gone less than five minutes at the very most. Were these two joined at the hip?

“All right, then, Lauren. What makes us the right agents for your problem?” Mulder asked.

She gave a small, almost sad close-mouthed smile. “You clearly believe in the supernatural, Agent Mulder, and you, Agent Scully,” she nodded at me, “have to see it to believe it. And you're a doctor, you can order lab tests and stuff like that. Between the two of you and us, I think we can figure out the truth behind the bullshit that I was fed when I first found out what I was.”

Mulder glanced back at me and I shrugged; I hadn't a clue. 

“Oh, I know, I'm being obtuse,” Lauren grinned at us, a real smile showing straight white teeth that lit up her clear blue-grey eyes. Again she glanced back. “I just don't want to say too much without Doc here so we don't have to repeat everything.”

At that moment he appeared out of the kitchen, carrying a small tray with two tall glasses and two brown coffee cups on it.

“What took so long?” she called to him.

“You forgot to turn on the coffeemaker, Lauren,” he said as he got close, raising his bushy grey eyebrows at her. “Gettin' senile in your old age, beautiful.”

She blushed slightly, which was absolutely charming on a woman her age, and snapped back with no malice, “Oh, bite me. At least I don't forget to put my teeth in in the morning.”

Doc roared laughter, luckily having already set the tray down on the coffee table. “Can't bite you without my teeth, darlin'.” Then he leaned over her, putting both arms around her shoulders, and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh just as hard. She then put one hand on the back of his head to pull his face over to kiss her. This wasn't a brief polite peck, this was a full-blown open-mouthed kiss of the kind that made good romance movie endings. I looked away, not embarrassed but giving them a bit of privacy, and caught Mulder's eye. He was smiling, eyes amused, as he reached for one of the glasses of iced tea on the tray. 

When they came up for air Doc handed Lauren a cup of coffee and, with his own, perched on the arm of the chair she sat in. It couldn't have been comfortable, but he leaned over slightly to put his arm around her shoulders and she snuggled in next to him, the hand that wasn't holding the cup on his thigh.

“How long have you been married?” I asked out of simple curiosity. If these two weren't recent newlyweds I'd eat one of my rubber boots with the disgusting mud from the Kneeses' farm on it.

“Almost thirteen years, isn't it, Lauren?” Doc said, leaning down to brush the top of her head with the side of his face, one of the most intimate gestures I'd ever seen. 

“Yeah, come June. We were married in 1987,” she agreed, glancing up at him lovingly. “We'll have to do something special for this anniversary.”

He smiled back down at her, their eyes locked. “Don't we always?”

I was floored—and glad I hadn't made the boot comment to Mulder or I'd be buying a bottle of A-1 sauce on the way back to the motel. Thirteen years and both over fifty and still acting like they were on their honeymoon, touching and kissing and gazing lovingly at each other almost constantly? There was hope for the human race. And it wasn't an act; these two were about as real a deal as I'd ever seen. I glanced at Mulder and wondered if my face was as thunderstruck as his. 

Lauren laughed, bumping Doc's side with her shoulder. “I think we've shocked them,” she smiled up at him, then over at us. “Trust me, when you've been through what we have, not just to be together but to be happy, accept who and what we are, you don't take a second of your time together for granted,” she said, glancing briefly up at her husband. “We were friends for years before we realized what we meant to each other, and we're not wasting another moment.”

Doc nodded. “We did cause a bit of a scandal when we got married less than three months after my first wife passed away. But it was her death that made me realize how precious life is, and to waste a moment of it is criminal. And like Lauren says we're not wasting another moment, either one of us.”

It was then that I remembered Sheila and Holman Hardt from that weird-weather case in Kansas last year; we'd gotten a Christmas card from them through our Bureau address with the happy news of their impending miniature Hardt. I vaguely recalled a discussion with Sheila in the bathroom of the high school gym, where I'd advised her to grab happiness while she could with someone who could be more than a friend--or something to that effect. Unlike my partner I don't have an eidetic memory, and a lot had happened since then. But I did remember thinking somewhere in the back of my mind that I should take my own advice, and finding myself unable to do so up to this day.

With an effort I brought myself back to the conversation at hand that had gone on around me while I was off on my little trip down memory lane. 

“So,” Mulder was saying, “Lauren, you started to tell us why we were the people you needed to talk to.”

Luckily it appeared that I hadn't missed much, if anything, in my little mental side trip. 

The older woman nodded at us. “Yeah. But I think it would be better if I showed you rather than tried to explain. In fact, if I tried to explain I'm sure you won't believe me, so I may as well just show you.”

“Lauren, I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Doc said immediately, gazing down at her with a worried look on his lined face. “What about your clothes? And they are armed, I'm sure.”

“Oh, I'm sure they are,” she said, glancing over at us before looking back up at him. “But I'm not going to do it right here. I was going to see if Agent Scully would come upstairs with me so I can show her, alone, first. I really want her medical opinion before anything else.”

Although this didn't sound right, I felt no alarm bells from my usually-accurate intuition at the suggestion. I looked at Mulder and he raised his eyebrows, shrugging, and I caught his thought: you can handle yourself. He knew I had my Sig in its usual hip holster, just as I knew he was wearing a shoulder holster today. “I can do that,” I said, standing up as the older couple did, all of us setting our cups/glasses on the tray. I was so used to their constant touching even after this short time that I barely noticed as they kissed before she moved away from him. “Agent Mulder, will you stay with Doc?”

“Sure, we'll stay right here and talk about manly stuff until you get safely back,” Mulder said, his meaning clear. “So, Doc, you follow sports?”

“You better believe it! Spring training's really looking interesting this year—who's your team?”

I got up and followed Lauren up the stairs as I heard discussion of the Tigers vs. Yankees begin behind me—would Mulder even notice I was gone?

She took me to a large, airy room at the top of the stairs, not closing the door behind us. I saw only one other door, that one open and leading to a bathroom; I could see the bathtub enclosure and a pedestal sink. This was clearly their bedroom, large with peach-colored walls and a huge, soft-looking wooden four-poster bed against one wall, richly burnished wood underfoot. Against another was a beautiful high-backed antique Shaker bench with cushions that matched the bedspread and curtains, while on the far wall was a pair of overstuffed light brown easy chairs with footstools, a small table between them that was almost covered with a mishmash of loosely stacked books. The chairs faced a large bay window, an unlit cast-iron freestanding woodstove in the corner on a broken-mosaic tile base. From where I stood I could see that the view out the big window was of the far-reaching unbroken forest into the distance, with a bluish haze on the horizon that may have been the lake. 

“That's our end-of-the-day corner,” Lauren said, noticing how my gaze stayed on the chairs in front of the window. “If we're here, no matter what, an hour before bedtime we both come up and read either until we get sleepy or, most often, until one of us decides jump on the other,” she grinned. 

I couldn't help but smile back even though I privately thought that was more information than I needed. “It's a beautiful room, large and airy,” I said, wondering when she was going to show me what we'd come up here for.

“We knocked out two walls to make it,” she said, looking around with clear pride. “This house used to have four bedrooms, but now it's just this one and the guest room next door, and both of them open onto the bathroom. With just us and the dogs we didn't need all of them.”

I just looked at her silently, raising one brow meaningfully. 

“Oh, all right, I'm putting it off,” she admitted. “First of all, would you do a basic physical exam to verify that I'm a normal human being?”

“As opposed to what?” I said back unthinkingly. “An abnormal human being?”

“You'll see,” she said with her earlier confidence. 

“I didn't bring my bag,” I said, “So I can only do a visual exam.”

“I'm sure that'll be good enough,” Lauren said, going over and sitting on the Shaker bench to toe off her fur-lined moccasins, showing bare feet. “Should I get totally undressed?”

“You can leave your underclothes on,” I said, “And lay down on the bed.”

A short time later I stood back and looked up at her after I'd put her through the reflex and basic sobriety tests. “Well, Lauren, you are about as normal a human woman as any I've seen. Is that what you wanted me to see? That you're not abnormal in any way?”

“It is,” she said, standing in front of me. “Now I'll show you why. You'll want to move back a bit, and please, don't be scared or worried. No matter what you see, it's still me, my mind, inside it. Nothing is going to hurt you. I have to get totally undressed for this, just so you know why I'm stripping down.”

As she put her hands behind her back to unhook her bra I stepped back towards the door and reached under my blazer to surreptitiously unsnap my holster. If nothing else, I had to admit that she was in amazing physical shape for her age, which I estimated to be in her early fifties, probably no older than fifty-two or -three. She was in better physical condition than I, very tightly muscled and toned. I knew she must work out for hours every day, probably ran and lifted weights, too, to--

I froze. Just a moment before Lauren had been standing naked in front of me, then before I could blink I thought I'd seen her melt and re-form, and now a huge light-colored wolf stood in front of me where she had been, its large splayed paws on top of her bra and panties. 

Ho-lee shit, as Mulder would have said.

The wolf had long, thick silvery fur with a reddish tint along the back and on top of its—her?--head. The eyes were black-rimmed and slanted, a deep yellow with round pupils, and above the blunt black-nosed snout were two smallish, upright ears. I'd never been so close to a wolf before so I had no idea if she was usual-looking for that species or not, but a moment ago she'd been a perfectly normal human woman, that much was for sure.

Mulder was going to love this.

The wolf moved and I braced myself, pushing my blazer aside to show the gun. If it really was Lauren and not some kind of illusion she'd know to stop—and she did. Instead of coming any closer, she picked up the panties from the floor and carried them into the bathroom, coming nowhere near me, where I heard a click-clack and then she came back, doing the same with the bra. She then went to stand over by the fireplace and I stepped over to glance into the bathroom, my body still facing her and right hand hovering near my side, to see that she had put the underclothes in a three-quarter-full wicker hamper next to the sink that had its lid standing open and resting against the wall.

Jesus God.

I turned to her and said hesitantly, “Lauren?”

She nodded and sneezed, taking a few slow steps toward me. The wide yellow eyes were open and guileless, her tail straight out and body relaxed as best I could tell. Watching me the whole time she walked slowly to the door, then lifted one paw to point at the stairway. 

I got it. Let's go downstairs. If Queequeg had been half this expressive I never would have had to try and figure out if he'd wanted food or to go outside. “Okay,” I said, feeling indescribably odd in speaking to an animal that I knew could understand me, “But let me go down and explain to my partner first, all right? He may react far more violently than I did since he didn't see you... change.”

Wolf-Lauren nodded again, then huffed out a breath through her nose and stepped back so I could go through the door first. I started into the hall, then a thought hit me and I turned back to say, “You can't speak when you're like that, can you?”

She gazed up at me with expressive, wide yellow eyes, then shook her head and sat down abruptly as if to say, you think? 

“Sorry, silly question, I know. Let's let Mulder get a look at you, then if you'd be kind enough to turn back into a human I have a lot of questions for you.”

She sneezed again, shaking her head. The thick silvery ruff around her neck shimmered and rippled, the long guard hairs waving. I took this to mean I bet you do. Then she pointed at the stairway again with one silvery-white paw.

“All right, I'm going,” I said, still a bit uneasy about turning my back on her. But she'd pretty much proved to me that she wasn't going to hurt me, and I remembered her words from earlier as well. She seemed to understand the reaction people had when she turned into a huge, dangerous animal.

I went down the stairs to see Doc and Mulder now both sitting on the couch, a book on the cushions between them. My partner looked up and saw me, saying, “Hey Scully, check this out. Doc always keeps score when he watches a game and has most—are you all right?”

He must have seen my face clearly as I got closer, and I had no idea what my expression must have looked like. “Yeah, I am, but you're in for a big surprise.”

Doc closed the thin book and set it on the end table atop a stack of similar ones. “Quite a shock, ain't it, Agent Scully? Imagine, the first time I saw her do that was in the middle of the forest when we'd been out searching for her all morning. I almost shit myself.”

Mulder looked from Doc to me and back again. “Do what?”

“First, let me assure you that what you're about to see is not dangerous—I've been up there with her most of the time I was gone, so don't overreact.”

He frowned at me. “Scully...”

I turned. “Lauren, come on down,” I called, going to sit on the couch next to Mulder. His gun was on the other side, but he'd reach for it with the arm that was next to me so I was certain I could stop him if need be. I watched his face as the huge silvery wolf appeared at the top of the open stairs and slowly made her way down, watching him as closely as he was watching her. “Mulder, that's her, that's Lauren,” I said with barely concealed excitement. “I watched her change. She's a werewolf.”

“Shapechanger,” Doc corrected me, leaning over so I could see him on the other side of my partner. “Trust me, she can do more than a wolf.”

At that moment, it all clicked. Unfortunately, I was too busy watching Mulder to sort through it. I wondered if I'd looked as thunderstruck as he did, watching this huge silvery wolf come padding across the room towards us. She was panting, and I could see the huge teeth in her mouth which made me a bit nervous—but at this point I pretty much trusted her in wolf-form as much as the human version, which was just enough to not draw my weapon at the moment. The holster was still unsnapped, however.

She walked over to the side of the couch where Doc sat and he reached for her, wrapping one arm around her neck as she leaned up against him with her head in his lap. From their positions it was damn clear how much he trusted her; those gigantic teeth were right next to his crotch. Mulder was now leaning sideways away from her against me, totally unaware I'm certain, and still had not said a word. I couldn't see his face now, but I had no doubt it was still just as shocked.

“Mulder,” I said, “say something. Anything.”

“Shapeshifter,” he drawled slowly. 

“You were the one who thought that might be what it was,” I agreed. “A little less flippant when faced with the reality, I see.”

He turned to glare at me and we damn near bumped noses, we were so close. I was pinned against the arm of the couch by his big body and now gave his shoulder a shove. “Get off of me, Mulder, I think you can see by now that she's not going to attack you.”

Lauren gave a little snort out of her nose and Doc laughed outright. “You're the first folks we've ever shown Lauren's ability to, so you'll have to excuse us,” he said, giving the huge wolf another hug. “Don't mean to laugh at you, but it is pretty funny.”

Mulder slowly sat up and took his weight off of me, though he didn't move any closer to Doc and Lauren. I got up and moved to one of the wing-back chairs, making no effort to hide my enjoyment at his discomfiture. “It's, uh, pretty startling,” he finally said. 

Doc looked down at her. “Mebbe you should turn back to human-form so we can talk,” he said. “I don't think you'll need to be anything else. They're convinced.”

She moved back a step or two and sneezed, then looked back and forth from Mulder to me as if wanting confirmation. 

“Why can't she, uh, do it in front of me? I'm not going to shoot her if that's what you're afraid of,” Mulder said.

“Clothes,” I said.

“She's naked--” Doc said at the same time, then waved a hand for me to continue.

“She has to undress first, her clothes don't change with her,” I explained, tipping my head to Doc in thanks. “That's why she had me go up there with her.”

Lauren let out a huff that wasn't quite a bark, then pointed a paw at me. “You want me to come up there with you again?” I said, and she nodded and trotted off towards the stairs before pausing to look back at me.

I raised my eyebrows over at Mulder as I got out of the chair. “Back in a few.”

Upstairs, I watched again as Lauren turned from wolf to human woman, so fast that I could barely follow the transformation. “Whew, that gets frustrating, not being able to talk,” she said, standing naked and relaxed at the foot of her bed but not making a move to get dressed. “Would you like to see a couple others? Here's a puma, though I don't do it often.”

As I watched, she transformed again, this time into an unbelievably large mountain lion. But she just stood there looking at me with large round yellow eyes, the tip of her thick, heavy tail twitching. Then she was Lauren again. 

I couldn't say a word.

“Panther?”

A great black cat stood there, and even at this distance I could see the faint spots in its jet coat.

Then Lauren was standing there saying, “How about the Bigfoot that's had everyone up in arms the last few weeks and brought you here?” She grinned, then there was what looked like the blurry photos I'd seen of Bigfoot standing in front of me—but different somehow. I noted that the creature was smaller than Lauren, about my height, but much more massive and muscular if just as hairy as I'd imagined. 

Then she stood before me again, and sank down on the side of the bed. “Whew, that wears a girl out,” she said with a weak grin at me. “I don't think I've ever done all of those one after another like that.”

“Let me examine you again,” I said, and she scooted back on the bed and laid down. I found her heartbeat elevated and probably her blood pressure as well though I couldn't really tell without a cuff, her pupils normal. I palpitated her body and found nothing different than I had the first time, or unusual for a normal human woman. She said she felt no pain or soreness and watching her face as I manipulated her muscles, had to admit that it appeared to be that way. 

As she went to a dresser and chose fresh underclothes I asked, “Does it hurt to transform like that?”

“No, it just kind of tingles, like when your foot falls asleep and you have to stamp it on the floor to wake it up,” she said, stepping into a pair of plain blue panties. She, like I, was a natural redhead. “But holy God and sunny Jesus, does it make me hungry! I hope Doc remembered to make me something to eat, because I could tuck away an entire cow at this point—and he knows it.”

Again I was impressed by her physical shape; I don't think I've seen such a perfectly muscled human being in all my life nor will I ever again. “How often do you transform?” I couldn't resist asking even though it really had nothing to do with this “case” and was perhaps a bit of a too-personal question. But she didn't seem to mind and offered an answer immediately.

“Before the last couple weeks? Maybe once every few months, if I even thought about it,” she said, although I noticed that she kept her eyes averted as she stepped into jeans. “For a while last fall we had a fisher raiding the henhouse and I took wolf form to dispose of him, but before that I think it wasn't since mid-summer if I remember correctly.”

“Why before the last couple weeks?” I asked as she buttoned up her faded-almost-white men's denim shirt. 

She looked over at me, surprised. “Because to bring you and your partner here, I let at least a dozen people see me in wolf or Bigfoot-form. I didn't exactly kill Kneese's cow, but I did eat it—I was pretty damn hungry at the time and since it was already sick and going to die, I figured it was a good stunt to grab attention.

“C'mon, Agent Scully, I have to eat, and eat soon,” she said with a worried look on her face, heading for the doorway.

I caught her edge of desperation and stepped between her and the doorway. “Why is that, Lauren?” I asked, leaning against the jamb.

She snorted and looked meaningfully into my eyes, causing me to step aside. “Because unless you want to deal with a real wolf, one that doesn't have me inside it, we must needs fuel the beast.”


	4. Love Story

IV

Downstairs, Mulder and Doc were gone from the living room and the smell of cooking meat permeated the house. “Oh yeah baby!” Lauren called, leading me through the doorway at the back of the room that Doc had gone through earlier. As we went, I noted that almost every available wall surface above waist height was covered with more dog pictures. “My man knows how to take care of me!”

I barely glanced around the large, airy kitchen, seeing Mulder sitting at a small dinette table near a bank of windows, before my attention was drawn to Lauren all but leaping at Doc, who caught her and, as expected, kissed her thoroughly. “Pound of bacon, two porterhouses, three butterflied pork chops, and a big ol' chicken breast,” he told her when they came up for air and released each other. “Think that's enough? I've got some hamburger patties thawed, too, if you think you'll need them.”

“I'd get 'em out. I did three, four changes in five minutes,” Lauren said, lifting the large, steaming, meat-filled platter that sat on the counter and carrying it over to the table where Mulder sat. I saw her arms bulging beneath the shirt sleeves, and with the muscle I knew was there wasn't surprised that she could lift it so easily. He started to get up but she waved him back, saying, “Don't bother getting up, unless the sight of a woman devouring this much meat bothers you.”

I almost laughed out loud at the look on Mulder's face; he'd certainly caught her double entendre and was taken aback enough that he apparently didn't know what to say. Doc, standing at the stove and putting four thick hamburger patties in the large cast-iron frying pan on the burner, guffawed with no such restraint. 

“Lauren, honey, be nice to the FBI agents,” he said, wiping at his eyes as the burgers began to sizzle. “I think they've got enough to deal with right now without your teasing them.”

Mulder looked nonplussed, but didn't say anything as Lauren seated herself across from him and dug in. To my relief she was using a fork and knife, although taking rather large bites and not fully chewing before she swallowed. I walked over and sat at her right, wanting to be nearby in case she should need CPR. It was then that I saw that the steaks were very rare, just barely seared on the outside, the pork chops still pink in the middle as well. The bacon and chicken seemed to be well-done, although she wolfed down everything so fast it was hard to tell. She ate with single-minded intensity, cutting, forking, and shoving the meat in her mouth without looking at anything but her plate. Er, platter.

“So, are you guys hungry?” Doc asked from the stove. “I usually have something while Lauren's eating, and I can make enough for all three of us. It is after lunchtime.”

“I could eat,” Mulder said slowly, and I nodded. 

“Cheeseburgers good? As soon as these're done I'll make another batch for us,” he said.

We sat in silence as Lauren gobbled down her “lunch”, including the four thick ground beef patties (rare, of course) that he made for her. I wasn't sure I'd be able to eat until Doc set a plate in front of me, and then both Mulder and I did justice to the well-cooked cheeseburgers as well as a pitcher of iced tea that he put in the middle of the table for us to help ourselves from.

By the time all of us had finished eating the tension had dissipated. Lauren got up and cleared the table, waving away my offer to help, then came back with an ashtray and a pack of what looked like miniature cigars. “Do you mind if we smoke?” she asked, setting both in front of Doc, who sat to her left. 

Both Mulder and I shook our heads, and Doc got up and opened one of the kitchen windows a half-inch or so. A drift of cold, snow-scented air wafted in, blowing away much of the lingering scents of cooking. Lauren lit one of the little plastic-tipped cigar-like cigarettes, inhaled, then passed it over to Doc. “I quit smoking cigarettes shortly after we were married,” she explained, “But when Doc smokes his cigarillos it makes me want to start up again, so we share 'em.”

I poured more iced tea for both Mulder and I, as the older couple were drinking coffee. “Lauren... when and how did you discover that you're a shapeshifter?” I asked. 

“That's quite a story in itself,” she said slowly, glancing over at Doc. “Would you mind if we had a moment to ourselves?”

“Sure; c'mon, Scully, let's go for a walk,” Mulder said right away, getting up from the table. “If we could get our coats?”

I very soon discovered why he was so eager to get away from them. We walked from the back porch to the field where the horses were, our shoes crunching on the frozen snow which, thankfully, was shoveled so I didn't ruin my shoes any further, our breath pluming out before us. There were no dogs in the runs on either side of the barn, which I found a bit unusual for a kennel, but assumed that Lauren or Doc had probably locked them inside expecting our arrival.

“Scully, are you absolutely sure that this isn't some kind of smoke and mirrors?” he asked me as we strolled along the shoveled path. “We've seen some seriously odd things in our years with the X-Files, but this. . .”

“I'm pretty well convinced, Mulder,” I told him, shoving my hands deep in my coat pockets. Had I known we'd be out walking I'd have brought my hat, scarf, and gloves from the car but I made do the best I could. At least I'd worn my heavy wool peacoat instead of the lighter Burberry when we'd left the motel earlier. “I wasn't right next to her when she changed, but from what I saw it's the real deal.” This didn't happen often, me being the believer and him the skeptic, and it felt more than a little odd.

We reached the fence and the two horses ambled over. I wished I'd thought to bring a treat for them, but they were friendly enough and allowed me to pet them, sniffing me and snorting out clouds of steam. They both had thick fuzzy winter coats that were warm on my hands, especially when I stroked their necks beneath the long thick manes. Then I noticed that Mulder was hanging back and said, “What, are you afraid of horses, Mulder?”

“No, of course not. Just never been around them,” he said, keeping his distance. “Never been around animals much at all.”

“You're missing out,” I told him, scratching the big reddish-brown horse behind his furry ears. He lowered his head and sighed, obviously quite content with my ministrations. The other one, which was smaller and black and white spotted, nudged my arm, which was resting on top of the fence, and I used my other hand to pat him on the neck. “Two hands, two horses, right guys?” I told them. “C'mon over, Mulder. They don't bite. These are friendly horses, they just want attention.”

“No, I'm good,” he said, staying where he was. “So anyway, what do you think of her, Scully?”

“What do you mean, think of her?” I asked as the black and white horse apparently got bored and wandered away towards the large pile of hay in the middle of the field. The red one, however, was now my friend and snuffled my shoulder when I moved my hand away from him. I smoothed his pale yellow forelock down his face and patted his furry cheek. “You mean personally, or her ability?”

“Both,” he said, standing with his shoulders hunched against the light breeze that sprung up now and then. “If this isn't some kind of elaborate hoax, are they con artists? Either way, what do they want from us?”

“Now that I'm not sure about,” I admitted. “She did have me do an exam before I saw her shapeshift, and I can tell you with reasonable certainty that she's about as normal, physically, as I am or any other woman I've ever examined. But there is one unusual thing I found, though it's not abnormal: she in the single best physical shape I've ever seen a human being in. It's like she's got what I imagine is a wolf's physical fitness level, with every muscle perfectly toned. She's got six-pack abs and thigh muscles of the kind that I've only seen on Olympic athletes.”

“Hmn,” Mulder said, frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe the shapeshifting does that rather than her being a wolf. You know, tone her muscles as she goes back and forth. It's got to work them.”

I replied, “Could be. Let's go in, Mulder, it's freezing out here.” I gave the horse one last pat and shoved my hands back in my pockets, scrunching my head down into the collar of my coat.

“Cold, Scully?” he said as we moved away from the paddock and back towards the house. Like he'd done at Coppolia's, he put an arm around me and pulled me against his side, rubbing my arm as we walked. “Two are warmer than one.”

“I don't see any sleeping bags raining down out of the sky, so don't get any ideas,” I told him, remembering our night in the Florida forest several years ago. But I let his arm stay and even snuggled closer to him. He was right, it was warmer with us closer like this, and I could feel his body moving through the layers of our clothes and coats. His hip bumped me with every step but I didn't protest, though I did wonder what Doc and Lauren might think if they saw us. Just as that thought occurred to me and I was about to move away, Mulder let go of me and waved me onto the back porch in front of him. 

The house was warm and smelled of cooking, coffee, and, faintly, cigarettes, not a bad combination. Doc and Lauren were still at the table talking when we came in the back door, and when he got up to take our coats we waved him off and hung them over the back of the chairs. A steaming cup sat in front of each of us, with creamer, sugar, and even a clear glass bowl holding packets of Sweet'n' Low in the middle of the table. 

We both thanked them, Doc waving us off much as we'd done with him regarding the coats. “I see you met our horses,” he said as we sat down. “The chestnut is Lauren's old guy, the pinto's mine. Too bad we didn't have ya take an apple or two out for them.”

“I was thinking that when we got out there, but they seemed pretty happy with the attention.” I wondered if they'd seen Mulder with his arm around me, then decided it didn't matter. Blowing lightly on my coffee, I looked over at the other woman and said, “Lauren, you were going to tell us how you became, or discovered you were, a werewolf.”

“Shapechanger,” she corrected with no heat. “Even if I cut it back a lot it's a long story. You sure you want it now?”

Both Mulder and I nodded, and he said, “Trust me, we're used to long stories.”

Lauren smiled over at us, then the smile faded to an almost grim look. “It began in the summer of 1985,” she began, her fingers still grasping Doc's tightly, “when I met Richard Wulfbeck, whom I later discovered was my half-brother—same father, different mothers. But at the time we met I didn't know him to be anything other than an attractive man I was interested in dating. By October, we were engaged.” She grimaced, heaved a sigh, and looked down at her empty coffee cup. 

“He had all of us fooled,” Doc stepped in when Lauren's pause dragged out a bit longer than was polite. “I knew him as well as anyone other than Lauren, and he didn't seem to be unusual in any way.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked pointedly at their linked hands. 

“Oh, we were just best friends at the time,” Doc added, reaching over with his other hand and wrapping it around her wrist above their linked fingers. “We'd been friends for years before that. My first wife, Elaine, was still alive at that time and I didn't have eyes for anyone else. It wasn't until a couple-a years after Rick and a few months after Elaine died that we realized how we felt about each other.”

“They both died?” Mulder said. “How?”

“Rick's death is an important part of the story so I'll let Laur tell you that, but Elaine died of ovarian cancer six months after being diagnosed,” Doc said, his lined face sad. “She'd been having symptoms for months but never let on, and by the time she ended up in the hospital it was too late to do anything but make her comfortable.” He heaved a sigh, and he and Lauren shared an understanding look; this time she reached over and stroked his forearm with clear sympathy. “I still feel bad that I didn't see what was going on with her, but I know I can't blame myself. We won't get into that, this is Lauren's story.”

“Anyway, it wasn't until after we were engaged that I found out that Rick had been lying to me in about every way possible—and I found out because he drugged me and made me turn into a wolf. Not the wolf you saw which still has my mind, but the vicious killer of legend. We both went out and laid waste in every direction, slaughtering everything we could catch and eat. Luckily that didn't include any people though my luck didn't hold in that direction.”

“Oh, by the way, if we tell you about some unsolved murders from near twenty years ago, she can't still be held responsible for them, can she?” Doc asked, his eyes worried beneath the thick brows. 

“There's no statute of limitations on first-degree murder, but it's unlikely we'll report anything unless we see a good reason to,” Mulder said. “Especially from twenty years ago.” He looked over at me, and I nodded in agreement. 

“Okay then,” Lauren said, reaching over to rub the back of Doc's liver-spotted hand before reaching for the package of cigarillos. He let go of her and cracked the window open before returning to the table and taking up her hand again. “It turns out that Rick could shapeshift, and only into a wolf, with the help of a mushroom he grew called niczi. But we discovered that I was not only able to shift without it, but into almost any animal of a similar size that I wanted to—and I think that kind of drove him crazy.” She paused to take a puff from the small cigar, then continued, “That, and that the more lies I caught him in, the more I pulled away from him. And, as I was later to find out, it was life or death for him to not only marry me, but to have a child with me.” She looked up at us with pain clear in her eyes, and I noted that Doc now had one hand on her shoulder as if to steady her.

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” he said, “Take your time and tell it right.”

I nodded. “What kind of lies did you catch him in?”

Lauren shook her head with disgust. “A better question would be what part of his life was the truth?” she said, passing the cigarillo to Doc. “Just about everything he told me when we met was a fucking lie, pardon my French,” she said bitterly. “He was a high school teacher and writer, but that was about it. He had researched his bloodlines until he found me, an unknown half sister, and deliberately targeted me to breed with. And, according to him, the reason he did that was because. . . and this is going to sound crazy so bear with me. . . because he was one of two princes who were in line for the loup-garou throne and only the one with a legitimate heir could inherit,” she said rather quickly. “I can't tell you the truth of that one way or another, but that's what he told me. And, if nothing else, I did get a kind of verification of that from one of his cousins who came to see—and threaten—me.”

“She's werewolf royalty,” Doc added. “Having a Cherokee princess as your ancestor is nothing compared to this.”

Lauren snorted laughter and smacked him lightly on the shoulder, then sobered. “No shit. I'm not sure how much of that garbage I believe, but regardless that's what he believed and Sabine backed up. And it eventually caused his death.”

The kitchen was quiet for a few beats, only the ticking of the butcherblock clock over the refrigerator making any noise at all. I glanced over at Mulder, but he sat quietly with his hands cupped around his dark brown coffee mug, eyes on Lauren. 

“He also told me—and I know enough about genetics and evolution to know that this is bullshit, but I'm going to mention it anyway—that we are descended from canines rather than apes. I know, I know,” she raised a hand to us, “It's utter nonsense, but who knows, it may turn out to be important to this whole thing overall. Anyway, when I found out Rick's plans, I flat-out told him that he was crazy and I wasn't going along with any of them—and told him to get out of my life. To my shock, right here in this kitchen he turned into a wolf and attacked me. Jesus, it's like it was yesterday.”

She heaved a deep sigh and I saw Doc's hand on her shoulder tighten, but neither of them moved otherwise. “He must have taken the niczi while sure that I would agree, and when I didn't he totally lost control. I was able to stay myself and shapeshift, hoping he'd see me as his mate as he had the other times we'd run together, and avoid a fight. But he was too far gone—when he realized that I was fighting back, he seemed to loose heart and give up—he slashed his own throat open on my teeth.” She put her face in her hands. None of us moved, then she raised her face to us, showing that tears were streaking down her cheeks and said in a strong yet quivering voice, “The one good thing, the thing that made me able to go on day after day after that happened, is that he died with his dreams intact. You see, I can't have children—never have been able to. I was born with a deformed uterus and had a partial hysterectomy at sixteen. At least he never knew that, that all he'd gone though with me was for nothing.”

I froze, caught between sympathy for her and shock at hearing that. It hadn't been that long since I'd found out about my own barrenness, and I wasn't sure how to respond. I felt Mulder's eyes on me, but didn't look back at him. 

Doc scooted his chair over next to hers and now Lauren buried her face in Doc's shoulder, both of his arms around her. I looked away, past Lauren's shoulder and out the window, not really seeing anything. 

“Fifteen goddamn years,” she said, her voice muffled against her husband's shirt. “Fifteen years, and it still tears me apart inside.”

“Some pain never goes away, but we learn to live with it day by day,” Mulder said softly. “Even if most of us don't have to deal with something that horrible.”

Both Doc and Lauren looked at him, and I followed suit. His face was understanding, hazel eyes open and with their own whisper of pain. Sometimes I forget that he's been trained as a psychologist as well as having his own demons.

“Yeah, that's about it,” Lauren agreed, wiping her cheeks with both hands. “I don't like to talk about it, but...”

“You knew you'd hafta when they showed up,” Doc said, stroking a hand over her wavy hair. It was another of those achingly sweet gestures between them that showed the depth of emotion they shared. “But it's over now.”

“Well... not exactly,” I hated to say, but did. “I can't speak for my partner, but I've got a lot of questions for you. And I'd like you to repeat your story into a tape recorder, if you would.”

“Sure, why not,” Lauren agreed listlessly. “I guess it's a trade-off to get the truth.”

“The truth?” Mulder sat up straighter and stared over at her. “What truth?”

She raised her head to stare right back at him. “The truth of what I am,” she said simply. “I want, and need to know, just exactly what in the hell I am.”


	5. Casus Interruptus

Mulder and I decided to head back to the hotel and get our recording equipment as well as my doctor's bag so we could document everything we needed to do. It was agreed that we'd come back the next day around ten or so, when we'd tape Lauren's story and take blood, DNA, and any other samples I thought might be necessary. As he drove back to Sault Ste. Marie I pulled out my notebook and made notes of things I wanted to be sure not to forget, mainly impressions I got of them during our first meeting. 

“So, what do you think?” I asked, flipping my book closed and setting it on the seat between us. 

“I think that no matter what else she may be, Lauren had a serious trauma that scarred her for life,” Mulder said, glancing over at me. “And we may finally be on the verge of getting concrete proof of the paranormal. Again. Unless, of course, her shapeshifting is natural instead of supernatural.”

“Do you believe that nonsense about being from canid rather than simian stock?” I asked. “I think—”

“No, I don't believe that, but even you told me that she really is a shapeshifter no matter how she does it,” he interrupted me, glancing over. “Do you think the tests on her will show anything abnormal, like Tooms or van Blundt?”

“Probably,” I said, turning to frown out the window as the snowy landscape flew by. He knows I hate to be interrupted. But our discussion was going so well that I didn't want to disturb it by being snotty. “Speaking of, I wonder if it's the same type of abnormality that van Blundt showed? He could shapeshift too, although only into other people.”

“Maybe not,” Mulder said with dawning excitement in his voice. “Do we know if he ever tried to do anything but put on someone else's body?”

“Not that I'm aware of,” I said, suddenly recalling seeing Mulder's face coming at me as he hovered over my body. I constantly had to remind myself that that hadn't been him, but the lines blurred sometimes. “But I don't see why he couldn't, keeping the same mass and size—oh, for crying out loud! Now I know why Lauren's Bigfoot looked so odd!”

He swerved just slightly as I let out the exclamation. “What?”

“When Lauren shapeshifted into the Bigfoot I remember thinking that she looked odd, somehow, odder than just a hairy beast-woman does in the first place,” I said, my words almost stumbling over each other in my haste to get them out. “When she turned into the animals, they were large for their species. But we're used to seeing Bigfoot portrayed as a huge, eight-foot-tall creature. Lauren wasn't. She was about my height, but much more massive and muscular. She must have had to keep the same mass as her own body, hence the lessening in height. I wonder if she even realizes she's doing that?”

“I'd bet she doesn't have a choice,” Mulder said, turning onto the road that would take us into town. “I can't see how either of them could add or remove mass when they shifted.”

“Van Blundt did,” I mused, thinking. “Or maybe not. He was a lot heavier than you, Mulder, but you're much taller and more muscular. Equal mass, you think? Or was there some way he could hide the discrepancy?”

“Hide? Like how?”

I frowned, thinking. “I don't know, perhaps under the skin? If he needed more mass than he had available, maybe air instead of fat or muscle to flesh it out? Either way, I'm going to get van Blundt's records and compare them to Lauren's test results.”

“Do you think we can get video of her shapeshifting?” Mulder asked. “I can understand that she doesn't want to be seen naked, but perhaps we can blur out the important parts.”

“We'll have to ask,” I said. “You're right, we should have video, too. Maybe the sheriff's department has a camcorder we can borrow.”

“One thing I thought of,” Mulder said. “I wonder if her senses carry over each way? When she's human does she have—or can she bring on—say, the sense of smell or hearing of a wolf, or when she's a wolf is she limited to human senses?”

“I'd assume she becomes fully animal, including senses, when she changes,” I replied thoughtfully. “But it is something to ask about. By the way, we never did ask her about Janice Coppolia, which was the main reason we went out there.”

“I talked with Doc about her while he was cooking,” Mulder told me, eyes on the road. “Apparently she was fine with knowing that Lauren was a werewolf for a while, but a few years after she first saw Lauren shapeshift she began to lose it, to use Doc's terminology, until they finally had to institutionalize her. He's not sure she should be out, but Lauren refuses to put her back in a hospital. She still feels terribly guilty about it, so guilty she doesn't dare go see her because she's afraid it might make her dementia worse.”

We lapsed into silence for a time. I was so busy running over everything in my mind that I barely noticed when the car stopped. I looked around, wondering where in the hell we were, but before I could speak he said, turning towards me and putting his arm along the back of the seat, “We're off-duty, Scully, can I buy you a drink?”

I saw that we were sitting outside a rather ratty-looking single-story wooden building that had “Ed's” printed on the side in giant pink letters, the apostrophe being a highball glass. There were no windows on its sides, just a door at one end with a bright neon sign in the small window that showed the three Budweiser frogs. Small word-balloons lit up above each: “bud-wei-ser”, over and over. It looked like a rough working-man's bar, but there were Lexuses, Infinitis, and Audis among the usual collection of Detroit rolling iron in the half-full gravel parking lot. I glanced at my watch and said, “It's barely five o'clock, Mulder, I'm not sure that constitutes off-duty.”

“Close enough,” he said, shutting the car off and apparently assuming my agreement. I hate it when he does that, too, and he knows it. Hasn't stopped him yet and I was beginning to suspect he was trying to get a rise out of me, although for the life of me I couldn't figure out why he'd want me angry at him. “I could use a drink, or two, after today.”

I dug my heels in, both literally and figuratively. “I think I'd rather go back to the motel,” I stressed the 'm', “and work on our field report. Since I know I'll be doing it.” Hah! Parry that, Mulder.

“If you come in and have at least one drink with me, I'll write the report,” he shot right back. “In fact, for every drink we have I'll write the report on future cases. I hate sitting in bars alone.”

That was tempting; I wouldn't mind a little unwinding. I said, “Fine. But if you miss writing so much as one and I have to do it, I'll think of some dire punishment that'll be much worse.”

He was already out of the car before I finished speaking and I'm sure he didn't hear me, but it didn't matter. I'd remember, that was what mattered.

 

Inside it was dark, dim, smoky, and as cheesy-looking as I'd been afraid it would be, but the clientele weren't what I'd expected. Though there were a few roughly-dressed workingmen sitting at the bar, it was mostly people who were dressed little different than us, though Mulder's impeccably-tailored Armani suit did get a few second glances. I was glad I'd worn an off-the-rack Ann Taylor instead of one of my more expensive outfits. My guess was that there was an office park or something nearby that this place catered to, since we were on the outskirts of the city.

I followed him to a booth and slid in, shrugging out of my peacoat. “What're you drinking, Scully?” he asked as the waitress walked up. 

“Screwdriver,” I said off the top of my head. No clue why, it just sounded good at the moment.

“Two screwdrivers,” he said, “And a couple bowls of chips or peanuts, whatever you have for munchies.” Mulder stood up and took off his trench coat and suit jacket, tossing them into the seat before sliding back in and rolling up the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt. “So. Quite a day, eh, Scully?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Not exactly what I expected when I first saw the case file.”

He chuckled. “Me either. Of all the people I might have imagined being a werewolf, shapechanger, whatever, it wouldn't be a middle-aged woman with a farm, show dogs, two horses, and a devoted husband.”

“Devoted?” I huffed. “Obsessed is more like it. Both of them, with each other. If they weren't so obviously in love I'd think they were more than a little bit crazy.”

“Crazy? Don't you think that's a little harsh, Scully?” Mulder said as the waitress returned and put our drinks in front of us, then three small baskets of snacks. He tossed a ten on her tray and nodded at her thanks. “I think they're great. I wish my parents had been like that instead of fighting all the time, even before Samantha disappeared although it got worse afterward.”

“My parents were close, but not to that extreme,” I said, taking a few peanuts from one bowl. In addition there were nacho chips and regular potato chips; I figured the nuts were the least evil, despite the sodium and probable fat calories I didn't need. Though I wasn't really hungry, the nibbling appealed. “I don't think I've ever seen another couple like those two who've been married for more than a month. And maybe not even then.”

“I'd like to be like them someday,” Mulder said, grinning over at me. “Find myself a good woman to settle down with who thinks the world of me, and waits on me hand and foot.”

I took a sip of my drink, which thankfully wasn't too strong, and gave a rather unladylike huff. “Right, Mulder. Where are you going to find her, in Home, Pennsylvania or elsewhere in the Appalachians? West Virginia, perhaps?”

He laughed, fixing me with that teasing gaze I knew so well. “Are you saying that it won't be you?”

“I'm saying good luck finding someone to wait on you like a... a slave,” I said. “I think I'd prefer a man like Doc, having him do the cooking and cleaning.”

“I'd do that for you, Scully, stay home and be the house-husband,” he said, still grinning. As much as I tried to fight it, that grin did something to me in the vicinity of my heart. “I'd have no problem with you being the breadwinner.”

I fixed him with an exasperated look. “Thanks for planning my future for me, Mulder, but I have no plans on changing my marital status anytime soon. So you'll have to find your own Mrs. Failenson if you want to be a kept man.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then I swear I saw him find the reference like he was using a mental card-catalog. Maybe he was, for all I knew. “Breakfast at Tiffany's,” he exclaimed. “Played by Patricia Neal.”

I nodded and decided to give it right back to him. “I could see you in that role, lounging around all day with some unhappily-married middle-aged woman dropping by every so often for a shot of ass,” I said, making sure I was looking down at the table so I wouldn't start laughing and blow it. “You'd probably have them lined up around the block.”

I snuck a glimpse and lost it as I knew I would; the deer-in-headlights look on his face was priceless. He was staring at me like I'd grown a second head and it had been the one talking. While I normally wasn't so vulgar, I was a sailor's daughter and certainly could say worse if the mood hit me. I laughed until I thought I was going to pass out, hands over my mouth and leaning to one side so I wouldn't draw attention to myself. I hadn't laughed like this in a long time and God help me, it felt good. “Oh-my-God, Mulder, the look on your face,” I manged to choke out, wiping the tears off of my cheeks with my fingers, hoping I hadn't totally ruined my eye makeup. “I'll be right back,” I said, sliding out of the booth and looking around for the bathroom signs. More so than repairing my makeup, I had to get a grip on myself. I'd be laughing the rest of the evening if I let myself keep thinking about that look on his face and didn't want to deal with Mulder sulking if I kept laughing at him every time I looked in his direction.

When I came back from the ladies' there was a band tuning up on the small stage I hadn't noticed when we'd come in, and a fresh drink next to my half-empty one. “Thanks,” I said, indicating the second drink. “I wasn't sure you'd be talking to me, much less buying me drinks.”

“I suppose I can't complain too much about you finally getting me but good,” he said with a crooked grin. “Just don't make a habit of it.”

“Hah! Every chance I get,” I said, raising my half-empty glass to him before taking a drink. “If I don't keep you guessing, who will?”

“Who indeed,” he murmured just loud enough to be heard over the discordant band, and the look on his face changed to one that caused a shiver in the pit of my belly. Tipsy or not, we were not going there right now and I turned to look at the band, who were standing around the drum set talking at this point.

“I hope it's not country-western,” I said, tilting my head in their direction, not looking at Mulder. “If it is, I'm out of here.”

When he didn't reply I snuck a glance and saw that he was still gazing at me, although with more of a thoughtful look on his face. I was uncomfortable and not in a place I wanted to be with him, but decided to wait and see what he said or did. Ever since our brief but unforgettable New Year's Eve kiss three months previous he'd been saying and/or doing things that made me realize that he now saw me in a romantic light--and that I was feeling the same way about him. He hadn't tried to kiss me or done or said anything inappropriate or beyond what a platonic friend would other than his usual Mulder innuendoes, but I could feel him wanting to. I knew damn well that all I had to do was give him the green light and he'd be all over me, but I wasn't ready for it and not sure I'd ever be. Getting romantically involved with Mulder was likely not a good idea, and not just from a professional standpoint either. From what little I knew of his previous romantic entanglements they hadn't ended well, though the same could be said of me.

On the other hand—and there's always an other hand—I had been both physically and mentally attracted to him from day one and my feelings for him had only gotten stronger over the years. You can't share your life, safety, and sanity with another human for so long without getting emotionally entangled, and that was just what I'd done. Still, I'd never really seen him in a romantic light until about a year ago. It was Phillip Padgett who had made me realize how I felt about Mulder, but I hadn't done anything about it. I'd liked, admired, and enjoyed being around this man for a lot of years now, and discovering that somewhere along the way I had unintentionally fallen in love with him was not only startling, but a bit unsettling. 

“Scully? You still here, or did you wander off on a trip to Reticula?”

The familiar voice jolted me from my thoughts and without looking over at him, I shook my head. “Just thinking about Lauren and Doc,” I dissembled smoothly, then added, “I think I'd like to be like them someday, too, but I'm not sure I could handle having someone hanging all over me like that.” Hint, hint.

“Only if it was mutual,” he said with a wink at me, then the band began to play and without a word or even a look, we finished our drinks and left. When it came to badly-executed rockabilly it didn't take telepathy to know each other's thoughts.

 

I had a difficult time going to sleep that night and tossed and turned for a good hour after turning in. Doc and Lauren stayed in my head, the way they were so openly and honestly affectionate with each other, and I wasn't sure why I was so restless and thinking about them. If it was the lack of same in my life, I knew damn well all I had to do was open the connecting door and I could have Mulder in my bed in a heartbeat. He'd made that abundantly clear just today, never mind being increasingly obviously in the recent past. I wanted more than the shot of ass I'd teased him about tonight and yet I wasn't sure that I was ready for anything more, especially with my intense and focused partner. I knew that with us it would be more than a one-night stand, that if we ever did sleep together it would be the beginning of a whole new complicated relationship for us.

Rolling over to a cooler spot on the bed, I wondered if he was having the same trouble sleeping that I was. I hadn't heard anything for a while, but there had been some thumps and other noises from his room on and off after I'd left it—and I didn't hear the TV going. We'd ordered a pizza for dinner, worked on the report (he typed, I dictated) and then watched TV for a while, choosing to use his room because it had a small rickety table to eat at. To hell with regs; like he said, I get tired of sitting alone in bars as well as restaurants and motel rooms.

Without realizing it I must have dozed off, because when my cell phone rang it startled me out of sleep. I had trouble locating it in the dark room and I couldn't find the light switch, but I managed to get it before the call went to voicemail. “Scully,” I mumbled into the mouthpiece.

“Agent Scully? It's A.D. Skinner. Sorry to wake you, but I need you and Mulder to get on a plane to D.C. as soon as you can.”

“Sir, we're right in the middle of--” The room was flooded with what seemed like bright light and I blinked owlishly, throwing my other arm up over my eyes to block it. “What the...?”

“Scully?” Skinner said from the phone.

“Scully?” Mulder said from the open doorway of our connecting rooms.

“What?” I said back to both. 

“Is that Agent Mulder I hear?” Skinner asked in a clearly disapproving voice.

“Who's on the phone?” Mulder asked, taking a couple steps into the room. I saw that he was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and shorts, maybe briefs. I could only imagine what Skinner thought! I waved madly at him, pointing repeatedly towards his room.

“Mulder, get out of my room until I'm dressed and yes, sir, that's who you hear,” I said to both again, then hastened to add for our boss' benefit, “He just came in through the connecting door between our rooms to see who was on the phone.” God, I hoped he bought it. Sometimes the truth is less believable than what people want to think.

“Whoops,” Mulder said, beating a hasty retreat.

“Nice thick walls in that place,” Skinner remarked sarcastically. “Well, I don't have too many details at this time but it's a developing emergency situation and I need every agent I can get. Come straight to my office from the airport.”

“Will do, sir,” I said and disconnected. Sitting up, I found the light switch for the bedside lamp just as Mulder reappeared in the doorway, this time wearing a pair of dark sweatpants in addition to the white t-shirt. “Thanks a lot, Mulder, now he thinks you were in my room when he called!”

“Sorry, when I heard your phone at five in the morning I thought it might be a family emergency or something,” he said, walking across the room and sitting on the edge of my bed. I drew my legs up and stayed beneath the covers. “Never occurred to me that Skinner would call this time of the morning.”

“Anyway, we've been called back to D.C. immediately. Skinner didn't say what it was, just that there's a developing situation and he wants us back right away—we're to go straight to the office from the airport.”

“Doesn't that just figure,” he said, leaning both elbows on his knees and scrubbing at his face with both hands. His hair was tossed every whichaway and even from here I could feel the bed-heat radiating off him. “The good thing is that I'm sure Lauren will understand, the bad thing is that we may not be able to get the Bureau to finance another trip out here.”

“I'll pay for my own ticket if I have to,” I said, easing my legs out from beneath the covers and sitting up on the edge of the bed as well. I was wearing my oversized cotton pajamas and felt dressed enough even without a robe. “I'd never sleep again if I didn't find out what it is that causes her to shapeshift. Now get out of here, Mulder, why don't you call the airport and see if you can find a flight for us while I shower?”

“Any reason you can't make the call while I shower?” he countered, getting up and sauntering as slowly as he could towards the connecting door. 

“I take longer than you do,” I said shortly. “And any sexist remarks will be held against you, so don't even think it.”

He stopped and grinned back at me. “If I tell you how cute and sexy you look all tousled just out of bed, is that a sexist remark?”

“Do I have to get my gun?” 

 

It was a good three days before we had time to get back to Lauren's case. The big emergency had been a possible terrorist attack on tourist destinations in Philadelphia, but when it didn't materialize we were all released to our normal duties. It wasn't until late Friday afternoon that I found the time to pull the case file; Mulder was off God-knows-where and I had the office to myself for a change. I studied what we had, including the field report and the notes I'd taken in the car after we'd left their house. He had promised to look into getting us back out there but probably hadn't had the time yet, so I'd cut him some slack and pick it up on Monday.

I was packing my things to leave when he sauntered through the door carrying his topcoat. “So, Scully, big plans for the weekend?”

There was no way I was going to tell him that my big plans included moving my living room furniture around to accommodate the new stereo cabinet I'd bought last week and dinner at my mother's Saturday night. “Oh, you know, the usual,” I evaded. “How about you?”

He shrugged, going around the desk to sprawl in the chair I'd just recently vacated. “A few pickup games, laundry, same old. You doing anything Saturday night?”

“Yeah, dinner at my mom's,” I said without thinking, then two things hit me simultaneously: first, that I'd given away plans that I hadn't meant to and second, had he just asked me out in a roundabout sort of way?

“Oh, too bad—there's a Buster Keaton film festival at the retro theater downtown and I was going to see if you wanted to check it out,” he said very casually. “Three of his best: The General, The Navigator, and Seven Chances. All with live organ score.”

“Damn,” I murmured as I zipped up my laptop bag. “I wouldn't mind seeing those in a theater. Missy and I went on a silent movie tear when I was a junior in high school and rented as many of the funny ones as we could find. She liked Chaplin, but I've always preferred Keaton and Fatty Arbuckle.”

“You know, it might be playing tonight as well, want me to check?”

“Sure,” I said without thinking. “I'm heading home, give me a call if they are.”

He was grinning like a little boy who'd found the present he'd asked Santa for under the Christmas tree. “Good, great. Talk to you later, then.”

As it turned out, the film festival was playing both Friday and Saturday nights so I ended up going out with Mulder that evening. And although I kept telling myself that it was not a date, it certainly felt that way. He insisted on treating for the movies and dinner afterwards, though I bought the soda and popcorn at the theater. It wasn't until we pulled up in front of my building at nearly one a.m. that I realized, with a shock that put a tremor through my belly, that I had been thinking of it as a date despite myself and, probably, so had he. And what did a couple do after a date? 

But thankfully by the time that thought hit me, we were sitting outside my building in his car, he'd turned the engine off and it was too late to think about it. Plus it might have had me on edge all night, wondering if he'd try to kiss me goodnight.

“Thanks for coming with me, Scully,” he said, turning to face me and putting one arm along the back of the seat. “I hate--”

“--going to the movies alone, I know,” I finished for him, smiling. “I seem to be hearing that a lot lately.”

He laughed, then reached over and tugged lightly on the ends of my hair on the left side of my face. “See you Monday morning, then?”

I realized that he wasn't going to try and kiss me or anything, and felt inexplicably let down. Completely without thinking about it, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. As I leaned back into my seat, I saw the look in his eyes, which caused another jolt in my belly. “Without a doubt. Thanks for asking me, Mulder, I had a great time tonight.”

Before I could do something else crazy, I made myself get out of the car and walk steadily up to my building, but as I pushed the key towards the lock I heard Mulder call my name and looked back to see him hanging partially out the open car window. “Hey Scully—this sure beat a blind date with a pitiful stranger, didn't it?”

I grinned. “Yeah, it was a good bit less painful.”

"Let's keep that in mind. See you Monday,” he called, starting the car, and drove off. I spent much of the rest of the weekend, no matter what I was doing, recalling the look I'd caused in his eyes with my kiss, remembering the feel of his lightly stubbled cheek under my lips, and wondering just what kind of can of worms I'd opened.


	6. ... and in the end...

Epilogue

Monday morning finally rolled around and I arrived at the office a good fifteen minutes early, but the door was already standing open. “You know, Mulder, being too cheerful on a Monday can—”

I walked in to find him standing in front of the desk frowning, an open manilla envelope and sheet of paper in his hands and a number of glossy eight by ten photos spread out in front of him. “So much for our proof, Scully,” he said heavily, handing me the paper. I set down my laptop case and briefcase and took it, then looked down to see that the photos were of us, wearing coats and breathing out plumes of mist, on what looked to be a farm. Then it hit me—these photos had been taken at Doc and Lauren's place when we'd walked out to the horse pasture and back. Some were from far enough away that the entire barn was in the shot, but others were tight closeups that showed our faces clearly. Sure enough, there were several of Mulder with his arm around me, his head bent over mine and in one, his face was clearly visible as he looked down at me. It was wearing the same expression I'd seen after I'd kissed him Friday night and now caused a jolt in the pit of my belly. Had I any doubts, they were now gone: Mulder was as much in love with me as I was with him.

Not wanting to deal with that just yet, I turned the paper so I could read it. 

 

“Dear Agents Mulder and Scully,

“Sorry to do this to you after all the trouble we put you through, but we can't continue with all the tests and all that. As much as I want to know what I am, I value our lives even more. The “people” I told you about came to see me the day after you left and threatened us both as well as our friends and loved ones if we talked to you any more, and I have no reason to doubt them. 

“We just can't bring ourselves to waste whatever time we may have left in risking our lives for this, and we hope you understand. We're going away for a while, and I'm sure that if you really want to find us you can—but we hope you'll respect our wishes and let us be. Perhaps later I might contact you again (and in a more direct manner!), but for now we think it's best to just disappear until this blows over. How long that may be, I don't have the foggiest. 

“Please find the photos enclosed as an apology for running out on you like this. I took them because I like you both, and hope you'll find the same kind of happiness that Doc and I have. He told me not to meddle and try to be a matchmaker, but I decided to ignore the old goat this one time. You two don't seem to know it, but you're as much a couple as we are. Enjoy each other while you can, life is just too goddamn short to take it for granted—trust me, I of all people know this so you listen to me.

“Take care of yourselves,

“Lauren MacLaine-Bryant (and Doc)”

 

“So that's that?” I said, disappointed but unable to find anger in myself. I liked Doc and Lauren and couldn't help but understand their predicament. “They disappear and we're left without proof again?”

Mulder heaved a sigh. “It looks like it. Next time, Scully, we carry your medical equipment, a tape recorder, hell a lie detector, with us in the damn car no matter where we're going on what type of case.”

“Skinner's going to love this,” I said glumly, then handed the letter back to him and looked through the rest of the photos. “What do you want to do with these?” I asked, studiously ignoring the closeup one that showed him looking at me so tenderly.

“I guess we could split them,” he said slowly. “Do a playground choose, maybe?”

I grabbed one that showed me petting the brown horse while he stood nearby. “I don't mind a memory of that friendly horse.” I'd never admit that it was also because it showed him in profile with his hair blowing back in the mild breeze.

He picked out one of us walking back towards the house without a word, then the phone rang and he turned away. In that split second I grabbed the one of him looking at me, sliding it beneath the first one I'd chosen. By the time he turned back I was idly sorting through the photos. Putting the phone down, he said, “That was Skinner, he wants to see us. Looks like the case of a possible killer of prostitutes at the Dirty Dames strip club has been approved for us to investigate.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” I said sarcastically. “That's not one of D.C.'s better neighborhoods.”

Mulder took another photo, then tossed the two he had on the chair. “We'd better get upstairs, I'm still on his shit-list for being in your room when he called,” he said, reaching up with both hands to straighten his tie. “We can finish going through them later.”

“You go ahead, I'll be right there,” I said as I gathered up the photos. “Let me put these away for now—we don't need anyone seeing them or the gossip mill will be in full force before we know it.”

“I'll wait for you,” he said, standing by the door and watching me tuck all the photos, letter, and envelope into the back of a file cabinet drawer. “Do you really think that anyone around here would think anything different than they already do if they saw those pictures?”

“I don't know,” I said uncomfortably, taking off my coat and going past him to hang it on the rack beside the door. 

“Do you care?” he persisted as I turned towards the door and stopped just a foot or so away from him.

I shrugged. “Not really. I stopped caring a long time ago,” I said honestly. “I know what they say about us, but I also know the truth and the importance of the work we do,” I added, looking up at him. “It should be pretty obvious which one's more important to me.”

We gazed at each other for what seemed like forever but was just a few moments. I think in that time we said more silently than we'd ever verbally, and I knew I was showing him what I felt on my face but for the first time I not only didn't care, I wanted him to know; I was so tired of the subterfuge and hiding! And since he was doing the same, my uneasiness melted away as we communed silently for those endless moments. Seeing that photo of him looking at me had done something to me that seemed to center in the general vicinity of my heart and now it melted at the look in his eyes above me. 

He slowly broke into a smile and I felt myself following suit. “C'mon, Scully, let's go see what Skinner wants before he sends someone down here to get us,” he said, gesturing for me to go first and as I passed him and he fell into step beside me, put his hand in its usual spot in my lower back. 

Despite having lost yet again proof of the paranormal, I was more hopeful for us and our work than ever before. I knew I probably would not see Lauren and Doc again, but I owed them a debt I could never repay and so would take their advice to heart. I was tired of fighting the attraction between us and ready to welcome whatever came next. I wasn't going to push it, but I'd recognize it and not hesitate to act when the opportunity presented itself. Come what may, I was ready. 

finis


End file.
